


As Roses Fade

by fangirl2013, SketchLockwood



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, The White Queen (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:43:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 62
Words: 91,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl2013/pseuds/fangirl2013, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/pseuds/SketchLockwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rewriting History...</p><p>Edward Plantagenet and Margaret Beaufort were born enemies, born to hate one another and both born to marry the people their parents selected for them. Both cousins to a king, both by rights royalty, when in 1455 the civil wars between two cousins tear the country apart they too tear a marriage contract and see the rival pair single once more, but when Margaret Beaufort finds herself a widowed mother at just sixteen, she is told she must marry the man she was born to hate. Neither party are thrilled by the contract as they are forced to join the houses of Lancaster and York in their bond. What will lady Beaufort think when her husband takes the throne of England by force? Will this couple so set in their hate learn to love one another or tear themselves apart in order to escape the binding forced upon them by Satan?</p><p> </p><p>If any one wants to give me prompts for anything, follow my blog: http://lockwood66.tumblr.com/<br/>or read my other works visit my mibba page: http://www.mibba.com/Member/190427/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Secret Prince

Rouen, Normandy. 1442

The birth had been hard, or so he was told as Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York hurried through the halls despite all that was forbidden. _She should be churched before you see her my lord, the birth be cursed otherwise…._ The birth was cursed by God anyway, why else would the baby have come so soon, a month too soon…

He had had heard so little news, the news had come the infant was born and nothing more, the infant was born and the birth hard. Duchess Cecily was surely tired. _Poor dear so much she’s been through, surprised she lived I am, the babe too_. With those words his decisions had been made, he walked with speed, his cape of black velvet sweeping everything, knocking ornaments to the floor as he strode boldly to his wife’s apartments. “My Lord, you should not.” He was greeted by curtsies of maids, a bow from the physician and the priest before the latter of those two men followed the duke.

“She has not been churched-“

“My child father hast you seen my child?”

“That I have my lord.”

“What of it?”

“A boy my lord but not so strong as you may have liked, christened he should be with haste… Take no time to think of it, he may not see the morrow.”

The Duke paid the man no more attention as he approached the bedchamber of the duchess, the doors closing behind him, more curtsies greeted him accompanying the shocked gasps. The Duchess smiled, her body weak though it was she tried to sit, he held up a hand and shook his head. “Wife you should rest, the birth was hard I hear.” The duchess simply nodded, resting back as her husband rested his weight lightly upon the feather mattress, his hand resting upon her forehead. “My loving wife, a blessing you are.” He kissed her eyes as they closed, a maid drew near, dampened cloth in her hand, and the duke took it and wiped the duchess’ forehead. “My son, bring the boy forward to me.” A curtsy offered and the boy was brought forth, a tiny child wrapped in white cloths, eyes closed and fighting for breath. The duke held the child in his arms, it’s tiny head rested in the crook of this great man’s arm. “Sweet child I pray to the Lord Jesus, saviour of man and his mother the Virgin Lady Mary for your breath. Be merciful Lord and let this boy, your precious son, hold his breath. See him win the war which is his life.”

Like a miracle they all thought it was when the tiny infant let out a whimper, a weak movement as a tiny hand emerged, blue eyes stared up at their father. “It is a miracle my lord!” one woman called.

“A blessed miracle.” Followed another, it was only one woman, a French woman dressed in a black velvet gown, trimmed with golden disks across its hem and breast that cried nothing of the sorts as she approached and curtsied, a young girl at her trail. They each said nothing as she took the child from his father’s hands, sooth his cry with a gentle sway. The child was then taken from his view, away from eyes until next morning when the tiny infant, swathed in a silk christening gown, wrapped in fur lined velvet rugs was carried to Rouen Cathedral and there in a side chapel baptised, the world blind to the child’s birth, blind to what should have been the publically lavish event.

_**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----** _

_**Westminster, 1450** _

Richard Woodvlle could not hide his nerves as he walked the girl, such a beautiful girl through the halls of Westminster. Jacquetta had told him of the need, of the honour and yet he did not want to.

Something seemed so strange to him as he looked at his daughters fine features, so handsome and white they could have been chiselled from marble. The girl, a thirteen year beauty, seemed far from nervous, her smile so bright it lit the court. How reluctant he had been to let this girl, this figure of innocence so near to the heart of danger.

He was not a foolish man, he had known long enough the ways of the court, and knew the men here well enough to know that he, a baron raised from the rank of squire was unwelcome in this grand building, his wife and daughter too. How he had wanted to spare his daughter, this beautiful gem the pains of humiliation paid at this court. Even his friends, so called they were, deemed him low by birth and influence. He need look no further than their eyes for confirmation. He was all welcome to choose his side in these recent rows, how happy they were to have him, yet he was not to stand an equal among these men.

The Duke of Somerset was pleased to greet them, a bow to the young lady as she walked, her head held high, he blue eyes dismissive to his presence, she curtsied for only formality, Richard Woodville knew it well, since birth this girl had known herself higher than most, for she, as she often recited, was daughter to Jacquetta Woodville and so of the royal house of Luxembourg. No man at this court would be allowed to forget it, not even the kings own Cousin Edmund Beaufort.

That very man now seemed amused by her superior air, how high this girl thought she was, how low he may have to prove her to be. Though his smile registered not his dissatisfaction with the girl, Lord Rivers so far had proven a useful asset, the Lady Jacquetta too, for his rivalry against that nave the Duke of York and his merry bunch of bastard sons was rising too great. The Woodvilles he knew could prove a useful asset, despite their pitifully low birth. This girl, as pretty as she was, to he the Duke of Somerset was no more than a peasant girl, yet she would serve the queen and thus would be of close quarters with the king his cousin. It would not pay him well to offend her he knew.  
“Lady Elizabeth, how pleased I am to welcome you.”

“My Lord Somerset, I was expecting the queen to greet me, alas you will have to do it seems.”

He stood a moment, aghast at her words, a fast blink pushed the shock away. Such a prude little lady she may prove to be, so powerful she thought herself, those eye lids batting so delicately, those blue eyes as cold as ice. Her regal composure he thought, would fool no one in these walls. Though it harmed no one, her words would not harm him, no serving girl could phase him, especially not the daughter to a lowly squire, no matter what his raise in status suggested he may be. “If it would please you to follow me, I would introduce your Lady to the queen.”

“Please me it would not, for I’d rather at least my mother, a lady of some rank would introduce me, not some man I daresay is a bastard. As I said, it will suffice, where needs must a woman must learn to suffer such pungent company to better herself I fear.”

He stood momentarily frozen with his red hot anger, soothed only as this most outrageous child’s father rested a gentle hand upon her shoulder, whispered some words and order her cool her tongue for it would get them nowhere but the Tower, to which the girl smiled and accepted her father’s warning before following the Duke to the banquette hall where her mother, the beautiful woman she was, sat beside the queen. The two grand women, the first ladies of the court as Elizabeth referred to them, were quite the startling contrast to one another. The queen’s dark hair and complexion seemed less angelic than the Lady Rivers delicate light features, yet both women were tall and full breasted, spoken with authority and their delicate French tones, articulate to the very last word. Both these fine women now smiled as the young girl before them approached with a glorious confidence so fine in any woman that the queen could not help but smile as though this darling girl were her own daughter. As lady Elizabeth approached, offered her curtsy and angelic smile the queen whispered to her dearest friend, this girl’s mother, “Such a fine job indeed Jacquetta, a girl more lovely I have doubtless seen.”

“I thank your grace for such kind words, the gem of my life she is.” The Burgundian woman spoke with pride, a smile outshining her daughter by only a mark.

“Rise up girl and step forward.” The queen smiled as the girl before her followed the order, her father looking up in perplexed pride, the Duke of Somerset that wretched man, watched in offended daze. An enemy this girl had quickly made him she thought, careful they would have to be not to have the man call it to the king, for some influence he may bare against the Woodvilles should he want to. Though no problem that would be to the queen, poor Henry was delusional again, the matters of the court would be her own, no matter what those foolish men, the Dukes of York and Somerset may have thought to capture themselves. “You are a beautiful girl, much like your mother, an admirable quality.” She turned her attentions to the Duke of Somerset. “I trust the girls chambers are well sorted are they not?”

“Of course your grace, I saw to it the boys were hard working last I saw them.” He smiled, the one fine thing of this girls presence had been his small victory over York, for the man had in weeks past been ordered to pay penance for his insults to the queen and her king, in claiming he was indeed more royal than the ordained king Henry himself. That scandal had been short lived, a remark put down to jealousy for an unfair system which this time was not of benefit to him, yet the queen, God bless her soul had not been so easy to forgive the man without his sacrifice. Now it was the case that he, Edmund Beaufort had the boys, young Earls of March and Rutland under his command, in his service and the service of the queen. Such pride he had taken in ordering their chores. Endless they were a shame on York and his house.

“Right glad I am, fetch the boys and have my new lady escorted to her rooms, there I shall join her in my apartments later, she should settle before her first day’s work methinks.”

“Of course your grace, right away.” The duke bowed and turned from the queen, stepping out of the view of the court and away into his chambers at the court. The lady Elizabeth stood beside her father, who whispered to her some words of support; she smiled sweetly and offered him no sign that he indeed was more nervous than she. For what reason did she have to fear? She had been raised for the task of serving the queen and happy she was to do it, happier still to be by her mother’s side. Her attentions were broken away as outside the hall came a clattering of pewter on the floor, several shouts and curses before two boys, red faced with embarrassment entered the hall, bowed to the queen and doffed their caps. It took several moments before Queen Margaret looked up, regarding the boys with cool eyes, she waited for a further moment before flicking her hand, the boys raised from their bows.

“You are to conduct the lady Elizabeth to her bedchamber, only one of you is needed, Edmund you may fetch water for the girl to bathe. That is all, be gone with you both from my sight.” She looked away, dismissing them with a hand wave as though each word she spoke to them may see her dead from an infectious disease which they both carried. The bowed once more, replacing the caps on their heads and approached Elizabeth. She smiled a regal smile, one which read clear she thought herself higher than them; they bowed for manners and at her lead, followed her from the hall. Once out of view the younger boy, Edmund Earl of Rutland, took his leave to fetch the water, his feet hurriedly running along the cold stone floors.

“You are York’s boys are you not?” Elizabeth spoke, her head held high, her cold eyes set to nothing ahead, she walked with her back straight and did not look to the young boy walking slowly behind her.

“That is so, yes.” He walked a pace or two slower than pleased her, he knew it to be so for occasionally she would look to the windows to catch his reflection, seeing him three paces behind her and not the one she would have, by her believed status, preferred.

“Are you crippled of lazy boy? Or do you simply wish to insult me?”

“Neither, I am not here to serve a lady of lower birth than I, with great reluctance it is I do it.”

“You are the bastard born son of the house of York, you are born no higher than I, lower in fact.” She turned as the boy stopped dead in his tracks, a small smile on his youthful face, a glisten in his blue eyes, this boy she knew would be her challenge whilst she was here, he had that regal look about himself, much as she knew she did, yet more adornment he seemed to be, more set in ways. So much so he needed not remind people of whom he was, aware they all were of his status, such she knew as the occasional servant would pass, bowing to him as they did muttering ‘My Lord’ with downcast eyes.

“I was conceived in the marital bed of the duke and duchess of York, I serve only for the queens arrogance and not for low birth like you madam. I’d have that known and wise it would be for you to remember such.” He lifted her trail with reluctance and stepped forward, nudging her to keep walking. She did, her head held high, a notch lower than before. Bows and curtsies she received only now for the boy she walked with she knew.

“What is your name then boy? If we are to save the same court, surely I should be benefitted to know your name.”

“I permit you to simply call me, My Lord. That would suit me fine.”

She shook her head to the boy’s arrogance, a more insolent creature she had not seen, so set in his ways he was, no good it would do him only harm. His brother had seemed more relenting, more accepting of their circumstances. As the climbed the stairs he’d made his way past her, opened the doors to the queen’s apartments and led her down a slim corridor, opened another door and doffed his cap. “In here you’ll sleep madam; I trust you’ll make yourself comfortable. My brother Edmund shall be here soon, with water for your bath.” He offered a mock bow and tried retreat only to back into the Duke of Somerset, a furious look on the man’s face.

“Trust it to you I could have lad, doubtless I was you’d mess this up.” His attention turned to Elizabeth who offered a curtsy “Forgive this creature his rude manners, thinks his rank exceeds him, teach him it is not so I shall.”

“Be gentle on him my lord, he is but a boy, foolish though he may be I’d not have him hurt for his troubles.”

“Troubles? You speak as though the boy cannot help it; it is his insolence I intend to right.” He picked the young Earl up by his scruff moving only to let his brother pass. Edmund offered a confused look but continued about his work, trying desperately to ignore the duke so as not to warrant a beating himself. Edmund jumped as the crash brought him from his work, he saw his brother on the floor the duke looking at him red faced. “I shall deal with you later and let me not hear a word of complaint against you or God help me I shall tie you to a scaffold and have you hung boy.” The duke turned from sight and left. Edmund was quick to help his brother to his feet.

“Ned are you okay?”

“Fine, our father shall hear about this.” He brushed down his clothes with a quick hand, his eyes downcast.

“And what, pray tell, would your father do against his lord Somerset?” Elizabeth said, a laugh behind her mocking tone, she clicked her fingers gaining the younger of the boys attention and pointed to the metal bathtub which sat before a fire, the boy poured the water into the tub, turning away as the lady began to undress.

“My father is the greatest man in England, greater than King Henry himself. He’d have the dukes head for an ornament if it so pleased him, and it would.”

“With respect due, my lord, I feel you’ll find yourself much mistaken for if, as you claim, your father the Duke of York is so unquestionably great, why are you, his son and heir as you claim to be, in service here at court?”

With anger in his face for the lack of explanation the young boy stamped a foot and offered a bow fleeing from the room, young Edmund on his tail.

**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**

The boys sat alone on their bed, a bed the Duke of Somerset had provided at their fathers expense. They spoke of their day, waiting for the duke to return from his service to the king, as they were sure he was to do. Poor Edmund his brother noted, a look of fear on the poor boys face, so young he was, just seven, it made him so afraid of this man but only for the lack of his understanding. Edward Plantagenet knew it was worth it, he called it martyrdom. His father would find a way to have them back, to have them away from that damned man who would happily treat them so cruelly, then they would be safe and their father would one day be so close to King Henry, and then Somerset would realise the wrongs he had done before he was dragged, bound and screaming to the scaffold.  
That day would have to wait the boys knew as the doors to the dukes apartments closed, he would be following his standard routine, removing his cape and sitting before the fire the boys had earlier lit - a fire they were forbidden to enjoy, he would drink some wine as they would sit silent in their freezing chamber, a single cheap candle to light the dark room. Then he would call them forward, they’d kneel before him and no longer did he need order they pray for forgiveness before he would mock them and tell them they deserved no forgiveness before he would call upon them to fetch his food and watch him dine, offering only the smallest of scraps for them to share before he would call upon a manservant to fetch his bath whilst the boys warmed his bed, then they would be sent to their freezing chamber to spend the night. So clear had the routine come they had no need to question it. Until that night. The Duke opened the doors, a candle in his hand and looked to the older of the boys.

“Come here, now.”

Edward cast an uncertain look to his brother and stepped forward, he tried hard to look brave, unnervous, for his father and the House of York, which one day, should he survive the shame the duke tried to throw upon him, he would head with great pride and enthusiasm. He stopped before the duke, bowing slightly only to wince as the man’s hand clipped his head and grabbed his ear pulling him from the chamber and closing the door. He released the bow and walked to his chair, sitting; he poured a goblet of ale and drank it down in two gulps. “Come before me, kneel.” He did as he was told, looking up at the man he repeated the prayer:

Dominus Pater, dimitte peccata mea, et ignorantias meas puer: Dimitte me, et salva animam immortalem me mala mihi. Adiuvantibus et vobis in terra prædam, ut serviant mihi vivere pœnis meis.

The words came with littler enthusiasm, his eyes remaining the duke all the while, until the man beckoned him to stand. “Remove your shirt boy.” It took a second warning, this time harsher, for the young earl to follow the order, slipping the fabric over his head the duke ripped it from his hands and stood. Took the boys shoulder firmly and walked him through to the bed chamber in which Somerset slept, took up the rope which held the curtains of his poster bed and bound the boy’s hands. Lifting the horse whip he watched slowly, noticing the child’s eyes closed tightly, his lips moving in silent prayer. The tension broken as the whip cracked and the boy cried out, with each of the time strikes before the duke released his hands, kicking the boy as he fell to the floor. “Fetch my food.”

As the boy scurried away, he had to confess, the satisfaction was not much as he may have wished it, the boy he knew was innocent of crime except his birth, the have seen York’s face as his precious boy was beaten, now that would have been the sweet taste of satisfaction.

The Duke’s temper had only worsened as the boy returned, late by even his standards, shaky hands carrying a silver tray; he placed it on the table before the duke, receiving no thanks. Forced to stand as the man ate, pour more wine as he drained his cup and clear the table when the duke had taken his fill. “Take those scraps to your brother, you shall not eat this night. Perhaps then you shall learn not to be so defiant.”

“Of course my lord.” He bit his lip as he muttered the words, walking as confident as he could manage to his brother, offering the small boy the food.

“Will you not eat with me Ned?”

“I’m not allowed dear brother, you should take your fill-“

“A half of this and I’ll save the rest, you can eat tonight when the duke is asleep.”

He smiled and ruffled little Edmund’s hair, yes, perhaps he would. He turned and left his brother to eat, bowing before the duke, surprised somewhat to notice they were alone, no man servant to help with the bed time routine. “My lord, would you have me fetch William for your service?”

William Hastings had, since Edward’s early days, been his own servant, until his father had sent him here, when William has accompanied him only to become a regular manservant in the settings of the court, for though it did not displease the queen or her husband, the Duke of Somerset had allowed the boys no pleasures, no comforting feeling of home. “No, William has the night off, you are to fetch the water for my bath, and help me undress, to warm my bed also.”

“Of course my lord.” With reluctance once more, he turned from the rooms fetching water as fast as he could, the buckets to heavy in his hands, he hurried along and poured the water into the tub, undressed the man at his command and heated the coals for the bed pans, placing them in the bed, he tried to retreat only to be beckoned before the duke once more, he helped the duke to dry, despite a small protest which the man seemed to overlook with ease. Dressed in a night gown Somerset walked to his chambers, sat upon the bed and looked at the boy through narrow eyes.  
“Do not dismiss yourself so soon lad.” Edward turned back to look at the man, he waited. “I am most unsatisfied with your service today, such is not acceptable. I thought a lashing would be enough for you, yet you persisted to defy me, taking long with all your chores this evening. You shall not return to your chamber tonight, for you must think me deaf or a fool. To save food against my orders would have you both drown in the Thames, you shall sleep in my company tonight.” The boy visibly shuddered and stepped back. Then it was the most unexpected thing that happened, he bowed his head to the duke before he crossed himself and with light feet set about a run, stopped quickly by a guard who dragged him back to the red faced Somerset who did not spare him mercy, tied once again to the post of the bed, tear stained cheek and whipped back, half kneeling half standing he was left to sleep. Something he did not succeed in doing.


	2. Deals Forged by the Devil

  
Queen Margaret of Anjou was, as often was the case, surrounded by her ladies, those beautiful Woodville ladies they were. Jacquetta loyally combing the queens dark hair with a gentle motherly touch, her daughter Elizabeth was preparing the queen’s gown, all ladies were smiling, a small laugh was shared between them as they spoke in small talk. Elizabeth Woodville had settled in nicely thought queen Margaret, the girl had moved to court just a month before and adjusted nicely to the ways. Still the proud and regal girl she had been upon her arrival, no thought Margaret, that would never change in the girl, it was quality befitting to someone such as Elizabeth Woodville, astounded she would have been if the girl had not been taught to be as such.

  
It was not long before the ladies were interrupted, the doors opened and the queen turned her head just slightly. A small smile on her face, the Duke of Somerset had sent the boy as requested, pleased she was of that. “Come here boy.” She spoke softly, tenderly as any mother. Of course she had grown used to these York boys, beautiful they were, their fair hair and blue eyes, how tall they were growing. Quite unlike their father, Richard of York was a small man, by no means plump or unattractive, yet his sons seemed to possess and charm of their own, both in the physical and the abstract sorts. The boy walked before her, his attitude had adjusted since his move to court, he was no less confident, much more determined, a prince by many manners she thought; so much so she had sent for a tailor and had the boy dressed in fine clothes, befitting for any prince.  
The recent change had come when she had moved the sweet boys from the care of the Duke. Somerset she had learned had become most unsuitable for the boys, displaying a brutality which Jacquetta has not been able to bare. Of course the queen cared little for the boys, they would not be of benefit to her, except for through their father. Wise Jacquetta has advised her, the Duke of York would likely take her friendship and accept her rule should the boys be shown to prosper in their good health, to enjoy their time at court and not be seen as prisoners to the Duke of Somerset, for Edmund Beaufort was the main problem at this court. She had to admit, as she looked over the child before her, that handing those poor children over to the enemy of their father had been the less wise of her plans. Yet she had struggled to keep the boys from the Dukes keeping, where he reckoned they were safest.

  
“I trust you are well my lord?”

  
“I am your grace, I’d enquire too about your health, is it good?”

  
“As ever child, I have great news. More so for I have great news.”

  
“I hear my father does come to court today. Might I be allowed some leave to see him?”

  
“You knew my news, you must see him, for a fine proposal I have for the duke.”

  
“You wish to make peace with him?”

  
“Ah, there is nothing I would deem preferable to that my lord.” She smiled an attractive smile as the boy looked up at her, trying hard to muster a smile himself, though she knew despite his efforts the boy seemed doubtful of a friendly reunion between Lancaster and York, the Plantagenet cousins. As doubtful as she was, it would not happen, but to seek peace of a temporary nature would be suiting to her. If she was to give the King, a mad man as he was, an heir to his great inheritance. “Be kind lad and fetch my wash bowl.”

  
He bowed and turned fetching the silver bowl for the woman, put it at her feet and poured water from the jug which sat warming by the burning fire. She let her feet slip into the bowl, not looking as the boy slipped into his natural role, one which Somerset had doubtless beaten into him, he used a gentle touch to wash her feet. The women in the room each stopped their tasks, mother and daughter looking between one another with shocked expressions, such a sight was unseen, no maid nor lady knew what to do of that matter. It was Elizabeth Woodville who stepped forward, kneeling she took the cloth from the Earl’s hands and pushed him gently. “Away my lord, this is not your work.”  
He stood confused, looking between the queen and her ladies as they each worked their delicate hands to prepare the queen for her day. Edward knew he could not win, for these women would not allow his rank be upon his knees and serving the queen so, yet Somerset, his master and his gaoler would hear of this and see it an offense, then prevent him seeing his most spectacular father upon his visit; the man would be on the lookout for an excuse to refuse the boys and sighting of their father, the Duke of York. He stood some more minutes, unsure of what to do before the queen looked up. “Will you stand there boy? Do you not have chores more in need of your attention?”  
“My Lord Somerset will be wondering where you are.” Jacquetta spoke to him direct, her beautiful eyes fixing upon him sending a chill down his spine. “He will only be furious if you do not serve him my lord, you best join him with haste.”

  
He bowed once more and left their presence, Margaret’s eyes all the while following him. Such a charming boy he had become, so quiet and polite, so loyal. Though she feared deep in her heart that the loyalty was a masquerade, which could never truly last. A pity it would be if the need should arise to see the boys head upon a spike. She shuddered away that thought and turned back to her ladies, greatly entertaining them with her tales of France.

  
**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**   


  
How could he stop those boys seeing their father? The Duke of York he had heard would visit court that day, he had already written his letter to Queen Margaret and begged to see them, should she have accepted he would have no choice but to offer the Earls up in meeting with their father. He could not think then what harm would be done, all the work he had done, all the hours he had spent would be wasted, for they would soon become the victims of their Yorkist ambitions once again.

  
Some part of him had grown to like the boys, the younger one especially. Yes the Earl of Rutland was obedient to the last, a smart boy, he knew how to gain the loyalties of the court, how to seem on all accounts to be a faithful subject to King Henry, how to avoid a beating, yet credit he had for the other one, his bravery did not go unnoticed, his loyalty to his father was immense he knew. The boy had not spared himself an easily avoided beating if it involved a task he thought shameful to York, to his father. So many times he had been told to wear a red rose upon his breast and join a court banquet and whilst Rutland had agreed, even wore the rose with pride, Edward Earl of March had been locked away in his chambers, for he refused all the way to pay insult to his father and wear such a symbol. He had not once joined the courts festivities.

  
Yet in recent weeks he had made progress, the boys were quieter and far more agreeable, he had held the whip back some more, gentler strokes offered when they were needed. Of course in part because Queen Margaret’s eyes were fixed on him, she had voiced her displeasure in his heavy handed treatment of the boys. Then she had said the word, confirmed the rumours and indeed told him that Richard Duke of York would indeed be joining the court for the day to discuss some contract the queen wished to write up with him. The news had been disastrous; the boys had heard it he was sure, they probably plotted against him whilst he slept. How they would not win, no, he would not allow them to see their father, certainly not alone. Not if it could be avoided.

  
He looked up as the younger of the boys presented himself, offered a bow and looked around. “Your brother is seeing the queen, he shall be back shortly I should imagine.” The boy offered no word of a reply, somewhat irritating the duke with his silence. “Come boy, I must dress for my meet at court this day.”

  
“Yes My Lord, of course.” He scurried off with speed into the dukes chambers, returning with a fine set of clothes he laid out, both sets of eyes looked up as Edward returned, offered a bow and made his attempt to rid himself of the dukes company.

  
“Edward, it would suit you well to serve me, I wish not to have to give you penance.”

  
“You would be advised against it.” The boy reappeared and approached. “What can I get for you my lord?”

  
“You can make yourself useful, the servants in the banquet hall could use some smaller hands.”

  
“My lord.” He offered a bow, accompanied by a smile. Anything to get away from that foul man he would do, anything at all. He walked toward the banquet hall, his step fast for the excitement he felt. It had been so long since he had seen his father, or so it seemed, so many questions he had for the man, would his lady mother accompany the man too? How was baby George? So many questions… The wonders ran through his head distracting him enough to not notice the King sat upon his throne as he entered the banquet hall. It took several moments and King Henry to cough before he took notice. “Your Grace.” He bowed swiftly.

  
“Cousin, come forward.” He did a nervous step toward the king. “I trust you are excited with the news of your fathers return to court?”

  
“Excited to see my father truly your grace.”

  
“Too long it has been we have been at unrest with York do you not think cousin?”

  
Poor mad fool he thought, poor Henry. He nodded encouragingly as he had been instructed and offered a faked response “Of course your grace, too long.” Too long he thought have you been at war with York, for I have done no such thing, for I am the heir of the House of York and so I know where my loyalties sit, unlike poor mad Henry. He could not help feel sorry for the man, so unkingly despite his most royal birth, even as the man dismissed him to his chores he seemed so distant from his throne.

  
Edward approached the servants, shocked as they simply handed him plates and dished orders out like coins among merchants, surely they had forgotten their place? About to remind them he jumped as the king upon his throne exclaimed “Cousin!” He dropped the silver from his hands, sending plates across the tiled floor as Somerset approached, stopping to pick up one of the high priced plates.

  
He looked across at the boy with apparent fury, mouthing the words “I’ll deal with you later” before turning his attentions back to the king. Edward worked fast lifting the plates and placing them on tables, quick to dismiss himself and hide once he had finished, the duke still talking with the king. He raced into the bed chamber knocking Edmund flying.

  
“Ned, whatever-“

  
“No time to talk, must hide.”

  
“You have upset the duke again?”

  
“Upset? Nay, I gave him reason to tear off my head for rage.”

  
The young boy laughed and sat upon the bed as his older brother scrambled under it. “What did you do so terrible?”

  
“I dropped the plates before the king.”

  
“Indeed?”

  
“Of course your fool or I would not have said it!”

  
Edmund shuddered at the thought, rather his brother than he of course for when their good father was to hear of that news it would not just be the Duke of Somerset to lay a hand about his brother, his father surely would too. It was at that moment that Somerset burst in, red faced with anger and embarrassment. “Where is the lad? I’ll have him here now and God help me when I get my hands aroun’ his neck.” He scanned the room checking the trunks and cupboards turning to Edmund “Tell me boy where is he or I shall lay my hand about you also!”

  
“If you talk of Ned then seen him I have not.” He said the words simply, innocently, his eyes downcast for he dare not look into the raging eyes of the duke. For a moment the man seemed to stop, to hear the words the boy had said and accept them, that was only a moment. With ease he lifted Rutland from the bed, holding him by his collar he threw the boy against the wall.

  
“Do not lie to me where is he?” The dukes attentions were turned as he heard a scrambling and the Earl of March emerged from under the bed, a quick look, sure the duke had released Edmund before he fled from the chamber with Somerset in pursuit, each step drawing dangerously closer, until the boy came to a crashing halt as he ran, head first into Richard Woodville.

  
The Baron seemed furious for intrusion, almost knocked from his feet he had ceased the boys shoulder, seconds thought as the Duke of Somerset had called “Do you release him Rivers or I shall have your head! Your daughter too!” The call had been futile, for the boy he knew was York’s son, no chance he could stand on him is he wished to escape, proven right as with speed the boy ceased his dagger and turned toward Somerset who stopped.

  
“I warn not to take another step, Lord have mercy on my soul if you do.”

  
“You surely jest-“

  
“Alas I do not my lord, take one more step you’ll see.”

  
Somerset for that moment held up his hands in a form ofdefeat, satisfied when the boy relaxed his arm and Baron Rivers, with speed and force held the arm and took the dagger whilst Somerset restrained the boy by force. Edmund had followed, his eyes now reached his brother. Poor Ned, the boy could not give in to their fate, he still believe their father would be welcomed to court and would win the King’s favour, that the House of York would be victorious. How often he spoke of it, yet Edmund understood it not, he didn’t understand what they were fighting over. Why were they fighting at all?

  
**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**   


  
Jacquetta Woodville had been shocked to silence as she wiped the boys forehead, the tiny creature lay in the bed silent. A few times he had called out, rolled and tossed till she had been able to calm him, then he had fallen into a silent slumber. The poor child she thought, poor boy, his only crime was a birth he could not control, his brother too. Yet Edmund had been fortunate, he had been born the second son, without the responsibilities of an heir she knew. She shivered as she pictured Anthony, her eldest son laying here in this bed.

  
She had scolded her husband when the queen had come across the sight, this poor boy, bruised as he was being held under the water by her husband and that man the Duke of Somerset. Word would have travelled of course, the Duke of York would soon arrive and demand audience with his son, and then he would see the sleeping child, feel his icy skin and demand that Somerset be put to death, her husband too most likely. What should she do then? Shamed twice for their marriage? Her children too? She could not bear it…

  
Elizabeth entered, her arms filled with clothes and rugs, placing them over the child straightening them each time he objected, maids followed with bowls of hot water. Jacquetta dampened the cloth in the boiling liquid and applied it to the child’s face. The queen had ordered it so, physicians were in the palace, on call should they be needed and Somerset was in grave danger of a trip to the Tower. A trip daresay the queen should not begrudge the man. As was her prediction she was hardly surprised as the doors burst open and the Duke of York charged in, several men at his side. She stood and curtsied as the duke approached. “Step away woman.”

  
She did, pulling her daughter away too, Elizabeth watched in curios fascination as the duke sat by his son, stroking the boys wet hair gently shaking him to wake. “Edward? My boy.” He sounded so lost, his northern accent losing its hard edge as the boy refused to answer him, he turned quickly, accusingly to the women standing as he spoke. “Whose doing was this? I’ll see them hung for it.”

  
“My lord twas’ the duke of Somerset.” The words came from the mouth of William Hastings, he approached the bed and sat upon it easily waking the child from his sleep. “Ned, ah little Ned! There you are, I knew you were fine. How feel you?”

  
The boy shivered, an attempt to slip close to William Hastings failed as his father lifted him into his arms, wrapping a velvet rug around the boy, kissing his head. “My son you are fine, how worried I was! Your brother Edmund is well? I shall see Somerset hang for this!”

  
“Peace gentle father, I am well, Edmund too methinks.”

  
“He was well when last you saw him?”

  
“Aye, he was.”

  
The duke turned, the boy in his arms, his attention unto the women who stood silently at the rooms edge. “These wenches, assure me lad, had no hand to play in this?”

  
“Lord Rivers and Lord Somerset only father.”

  
Jacquetta felt the breath catch in her throat as the child mentioned her husbands name, she felt Elizabeth’s cold eyes fix upon her, how she would tell her daughter those words were true she did not know, for now her attentions were fixed upon the duke and the boy he held in his arms.

  
“Is this true Lady Rivers?”

  
“I ashamed I am it is.”

  
“Then you have had your last glory in the court I fear, your husband is a traitor and see it England shall!”

  
“My lord, oh gracious that you are spare him for my daughter-“

  
“As he would have spared my son? Nay I think not, nothing can be done madam, your pleasing will not work on my, the insult is paid as must the penance be.”  
She looked to her daughter as the duke left, his son in his arms, followed by William Hastings and several other great men of the court.

  
**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**   


  
Queen Margaret sat beside her king, the duke knelt before him, his sons either side of him. The boys she noted seemed happy to be reunited with their father, how much she hoped the occasion could be more permanent. A smile graced her face as a young girl of six years old was walked forward by her maid, knelt before her and gave thanks for the opportunity, her mother filing in behind her. “Lady Beaufort, I trust you are well.”

  
“Of course your grace.” She looked a harsh look toward the duke, her eyes slipping over his sons she scoffed, unsure why the York’s had been forced upon them, for Lady Beaufort, widow of John Beaufort, so sister-in-law to the Duke of Somerset could think of no one she wished to see more. She covered the eyes of her daughter as though to shield her from them, as though they were demons she wished the girl not to see. All much to the amusement of the queen.

  
“Lady Beaufort such will not be necessary, you are both great names, great families, here to make a mutual agreement and end these rows I fear are harming your king.”  
Lady Beaufort turned to look at the duke, a foul man she thought, how strange it was, she spoke without thought

“What, your grace, could you think to have me agree to with the Yorks?” She stopped her words quite suddenly, the mocking tone disappeared as the realisation came upon her. It could not be, the duke of course was married, though she was herself a widow, he could not be the terms of the contract. She looked down at the lady Margaret Beaufort, her tiny daughter whom knelt before her, and then to the York boys kneeling so loyally beside their father and all she could wonder was which of those repulsive boys would be offered to her daughter as bribery for the peace?


	3. As Tides Do Change

Cecily Neville, Duchess of York greeted her husband as any wife was supposed to, she curtsied to the man and offered him a smile, one which was far from returned to her as the man strode past, her sons straddling behind accompanied by William Hastings. How she wished they’d hurry their feet so she could see to her husband. She ignored their slow moving progress as her husband called to her from his presence chamber. She entered and once more curtsied, emphasising her respect, she looked to him and smiled, her voice as sweet as honey as she spoke. “Husband.”

  
“It is an outrage I tell you wife, an outrage.”

  
“What is it Richard, you brought the boys back safe-“

  
“Safe for now but another week and Lord knows what would have happened.” The man crossed himself and downcast his eyes for several moments before looking back to his wife. “There is more Cecily, much more you should know, that bitch of Anjou would have our son wed the Beaufort bastard child.”

  
“Which son?”

  
“Edward.”

  
“To marry Margaret Beaufort?” The duchess laughed “I think not, and my opinion of such shall be expressed at court if the need is there. Tell me you did not sign a contract.”  
The duke remained silent, sighed and looked away from his wife, unable to face the woman. For all the duchess was, her small and delicate frame, her features so fair and handsome, her smile so rare and beautiful, he could not deny her hot temper, a temper which when raging would rival that of a Viking warrior. “I am sorry dear wife-“

  
“You betrothed Edward to Margaret Beaufort? The York heir to a Lancastrain bastard?” Her tone was unrelenting, accusing, the woman he knew was furious, this was a sin for which he would not be forgiven. She dropped herself into a chair, her hand upon her chest as though the shock would be her death. She looked to her husband with cold eyes.

“You cannot think to keep it?”

  
“They are a good family love and-“

  
“She is a bastard! She could be a Neville and I would not have it any different.”

  
“Lady Beaufort says much the same for dear Edward-“

  
“Edward is the legitimate heir of York, and will not have anything said different in this house, not even by you my lord. For it is dangerous ground on which we touch when such is mentioned. I shall not have my good name tarnished.”

  
“No, of course not dear, forgive me.”

  
She waved her hand as though it were already done and spoke in a tone far quieter. “What thinks Edward of it?”

  
“He is eight, what should he think?”

  
“He does not want it I should have thought.”

  
“He claims he will not marry her, as though he gets choice.”

  
“He does-“

  
“As the heir to the House of York, he will marry for convenience not choice, this is convenient.”

  
“This is a match from Satan himself! They wish to force you to submission Richard.”

  
“Enough of this, they are children, easily this can be broken! Speak to me of other things, how is my son George?”

  
“He is well.”

  
“My daughters?”

  
“All well.”

  
“Then I am happy!” He stood and approached his wife offering her a hand to her feet he kissed her lips. “My children are healthy and I am home, surely this is cause enough for celebration?”

  
**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**   


  
**1455**   
**St Albans**   


  
The tensions had for some time been rising, no man at court or elsewhere could have denied the patterns things were likely to take long before the nobles had divided themselves. The Duke of Somerset had never truly dismissed the insult he called the betrothal of his dear niece, Margaret Beaufort to the bastard son of York. The arguments had stirred not settled; Margaret of Anjou had seen her court divided, her husband once again mad and her son born to a world where war had been looking for year. Now it had come to this. The men had gathered in their thousands, rallied by two great houses to fight one another, neighbours and brothers, sons and fathers forced to fight each other and kill their friends, all for the sake of two rival cousins. So unhappy was the Duke of York he had been tempted to call back his men, the Neville’s s, his most precious allies had refused to hear of such. “Richard, my lord, you cannot call back now! We may indeed win.”

  
“But this is treason brother.” He has to his brother-in-law in a hushed tone, careful not to let the men hear his concerns, for they were surely doomed should the men hear that, should they hear they risked their lives for a man who himself was claiming his cause was treason. They would flee like the rats on a buckled ship.

  
“Nay! Say not such things, you fight not King Henry but Edmund Beaufort, the so called Duke of Somerset who claims his royal blood better than yours when he is, we all know, the illegitimate grandson of John of gaunt, you my lord are the true heir to the royal line!”

  
“True, I do suppose.” But sad it is it should come to this, all the same I may be royal he thought, but should men leave their lives on this field today so that Imay be settled in my position? Surely these great men could be civil, could discuss their problems and settle them with words not swords, for what did swords solve anyway?

  
Yet the men before him paid no attention to his worries, as he had known they would not. The Nevilles were such keen fighters, eager to prove themselves through use of swords and guns and never pausing to speak a word of reason. William Hastings joined the duke with a hesitant sigh, the servant had been brought forth on the dukes orders. Richard Plantagenet saw the man and thought of home, he thought of his children at Fotheringhay, likely on their knees in prayer for their father, Edward for his friend William too. The young man spoke to the duke in a measured tone, trying hard to hide his fear. “They approach my lord, many men God help us should they know we here.”

  
“Hold your tongue boy!” The words had come from the Earl of Warwick, the man looked at him with disapproving eyes. William Hastings did not like Richard Neville, the man was a creature who believed too much in his own importance, who thought he greater than the world. When Ned had been sent to live with the great Earl in Middleham, to learn the complex ways of knighthood and earldom William too had been sent with him, as his man servant and friend; he had quickly learned that Richard Neville was not the man he wanted to be friends with, nor the sort he wished to cross. That was fine, Ned had befriended the man and went so far as to call him brother – not so strange given that they were cousin’s he mused, but William, despite the influence of his young master, would not like this proud and cocky man.

  
“Richard! Dear nephew, he simply wishes to inform us of the progress of our enemies! No harm done in the lad speaking.”

  
“No harm indeed! He’ll have them desert and then he’ll be sorry!”

  
“Hold your tongue lad! You’ll have the men desert not the boy!” Richard’s father laced a hand around the boys head and smiled to the duke apologetically. York turned back to William Hastings and smiled.

  
“How many lad?”

  
“Over a thousand, over two thousand…” He sounded panicked, his eyes focusing on anything and nothing; he could not look to the duke. His mind wandered to Ned, poor Ned at home. The Earl had so desperately wanted to join them, yet William has spared him such in saying he was too young, quite right the duke had thought he had been, now that boy, a delicate thirteen year old who wanted to stand for York with pride would be in the family chapel, hands clasped praying for their safe return.

  
“You need not fear William, you’ll not die in battle, my son needs you yet.” The duke tapped the boys shoulder comfortingly, holding him steady looking into his eyes “how old are you now lad?” He was twenty five and muttered so quietly. “Twenty five, this should be second nature to you! You can swing a sword and hold your own in armour can you not?” he offered a nervous nod to the duke who laughed and clapped a hand firmly on his back. “Then armour up already! We have not all day to dally! They approach you say then prepare with haste!”

  
Even as William Hastings slipped away to obey the duke, he could not help but think this was not the thing they wished to be doing, not a place he wished to be. All he could be thankful for was the boys had been saved the fate of being here, despite their supposed shame. The battlefield was no place for young boys. Especially the heirs of York.


	4. Broken Promises

  
**Westminster Palace, London**   


The news had been quick to arrive when the Duke of Somerset had lost his life in battle. So many had thought the problems would be solved. Queen Margaret had spent endless hours speaking with Lady Beaufort, they had agreed to cancel the marriage contract between Edward Plantagenet and her daughter, Margaret Beaufort and instead she would marry Edmund Tudor, without hesitation. The girl was barely eleven years old, but the king had insisted upon the marriage all the same. No time was to be wasted.  
Jacquetta Woodville and her daughter had shuddered at the news when they had heard the York’s had been summoned to court, Richard and his eldest boys, the Duchess was to stay home and care for the little ones in the nursery. The queen had no interest in discussing matters with the women of the family. Jacquetta, even as she sat beside the queen, a stone look upon her face, could not help fear the worst as she remembered the last occasion she had seen the York boys and the Duke, her husband had tried to drown the eldest son with the help of the late Duke of Somerset, York had sworn vengeance, vengeance he hadn’t yet sought.

  
The hall fell quiet as the Duke of York entered and bowed before the royals, Edmund and Edward Plantagenet following in behind him, bowed also and doffed their fine velvet caps before rising on order. Jacquetta sat astounded, the boys, those fragile creatures they had been, had grown so much. Almost men now as they stood before the king and queen, neutral looks upon their faces, they seemed stronger than before, more determined, they listened carefully as King Henry spoke. “Cousin, I have heard of the atrocities which have commenced shame to hear such.”

  
“Shame it was sire that you were present, most unintentional that was.”

  
The king offered a hand wave to the duke, as regal as he could manage, a smile and then his eyes cast upon the boys before him, stood a step behind their father dressed in blue and white. “I did not see these youths at battle York.”

  
“For they were not there sire, at home in chapel they were.”

  
“At prayer?”

  
“Aye.”

  
“For success?”

  
“Aye.”

  
“For whose success were you praying boys?”

  
The duke looked to his sons, desperately trying to encourage them to speak, preferably the words which would suit the kings ears. Edward was the one to speak up, all eyes fixed on him, including those of the Baron Rivers, a man Edward smiled to as he spoke.

  
“I cannot speak for my brother also, but I was at prayer for my father your grace, for his safe return.”

  
“Tis’ treason!” Lord Rivers spoke, drawing attention to himself from all parties, a curious glance from the boys, another smile from Edward.

  
“Ah yea, as much I should have expected from you Lord Rivers, trying to boost thy status in accusing me of treason? What treason lies in loyalty to my father?”

  
“In praying for his return you prayed for the kings defeat.”

  
“Indeed? You must prove such.”

  
“That task should not be hard.”

  
“My lords, silence to you both!” The king spoke once more and stood, approached the duke and stopped as the man bowed. “I trust this will not happen again?”

  
“Of course your grace.”

  
“Then I am satisfied, but only when you serve your penance for your actions against your king.”

  
“Sire?”

  
“Silence cousin, you shall, these boys for the Ears sharp tongue spend the year within the Tower, for when I am then satisfied with your loyalties you may be released, upon my pleasure only cousin. No harm shall there come to you, but I cannot have you outside those walls and stirring riots against me now can I?”

  
The duke nudged Edward’s ribs for the boys silence, he had seen the boys desire to speak up, the duke had offered one last bow and with reluctance had agreed to the kings quite reasonable terms. It had been by the dukes smart wits alone that the boys had been lead from the palace at Westminster to the Tower without a shackle or chain about their bodies.

  
**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**   


  
Margaret Beaufort had been glad of her marriage release to that York bastard, if indeed he was even York’s son, a truly doubtful thing. She had heard the death of her uncle at St Albans and turned her hand to where it was normally turned, to God and the Virgin Mary of course, to whom else would she trust with her confessions? Glad she had been for the death of the man, no crueller man had existed she was sure, the duke had taken his thrill from the pain he had inflicted, upon his servants and niece alike. The private chapel of Edmund Tudor, her new husband as he was, was silent. She was alone in the presence of God and quite happy she was for it.

  
For what she would pray she was unsure, but she counted away the beads at her rosary and prayed for this man and the next. Most she prayed for the creature inside her. Edmund Tudor had taken the steps no husband should have taken, brutal the world had said. The Duke of York even had shown her pity, in form a letter to her mother, cursing her for breaking the betrothal to dear Edward of York and secondly, he had explained, in the most subtle of terms, that his son would not have taken her before a time she was ready to bare children. As her present husband had.

  
All she could hope now, a pregnant twelve year old from the House of Lancaster was that the baby, as her family hoped, as the king expected, would be a boy. For truly she was done for if the child were a girl, of that she knew. Lord Edmund had become ill, fallen down with the plague so many feared. She had been sent away from him, to the other side of the castle, isolated from the population in order to keep the child safe. The news had come to her that morning, she was now a widow. She had prayed for the soul of that foul man a hundred times already, ensured a hundred masses had been paid for and then returned to kneeling before the statue of the virgin here in the private Tudor chapel.  
Jasper had seen her briefly, not permitted to speak a word to her as she remained comfortably deep in prayer. He had slipped in and out of that chapel six times that day already, each time to offer the girl some food. For now she would be kept comfortably as her generous dowry would expect, until the child was born at least, and then she would be offered away to another man of suitability after her period of suitable mourning.

  
Of course, as months went by and the girl grew plumper, still hardly leaving that chapel, Jasper had ordered more women folk to serve on her and taken his leave of lady Margaret, for rumours had stirred through Wales that York had been released from the Tower some time before, and that he, with his boys had been planning their uprising against the king. He was not sure how true the words were, the duke had fair reason for resentment, but surely, despite his victory at St Albans, he could not hope to raise troops against his king so soon after his pardon for what surely was treason?

**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**

  
**November**   
**1459**   
**Ludlow Castle**   


 

The men had long been waiting nervously, forced to wait outside the castle walls for York to emerge. The lords of the army, its generals had sent petition inside the castle beckoning Richard Duke of York outside, accompanied by the Earls of March and Rutland where then, as was custom they would be escorted, bound and shackled to the Tower where the king would likely show them mercy. Then the generals had given order to wait, hold their ranks and camp till morning when, if the duke and his sons had not emerged they would siege the castle and take them by force. The women too, which had indeed caused much amusement among the common foot soldiers.  
To Jasper Tudor it seemed so strange, why was the king showing these Yorkist traitors mercy? Why had they waited so long when it was clear before them the duke would not show himself, the boys neither; yet the call had not been his own and so the army, in the small hours of the morning, stood kitted outside the castle walls. Jasper could not hold back the thankful thought, the castle seemed in disrepair, unable to stand the siege for long, why York did not spare his wife the torment and show himself when he must have known it would take two hundred men but minutes to enter the dilapidated structure he was unsure.

  
Yet who was sure what went through the minds of other men, especially that of the Duke of York. His attention changed as Henry Beaufort, the new Duke of Somerset approached, the man was nothing like his father, though similar in his build and stricter in his loyalties, he seemed to take no pride in forcing into a castle where children and women would be put vulnerable. He seemed annoyed at York only for making him do this. “Are you ready Jasper? Your men?”

  
“Ready they are, have been all night my lord.”

  
“I wish it had not come to this, we are, upon finding York and hissons to spare no mercy, if they will not come and cannot reasonably be shackled, they are to go out fighting, with honour, but on the kings orders they shall be no more.”

  
“With honour? They deserve no honour for their treason.”

  
“I quite agree, but king Henry set the word.” Somerset waited for Jasper’s acknowledgment, in the form of a nod their shouts could be heard for miles. “Men ready! Fall into position!” Somerset turned to check his faction, all in line, weapons ready, he turned toward the castle, offered a quick foot stamp, drew his sword and held it up. “Charge!” With that the men set at their run, storming the castle gates as only common men could, when the did not open they retreated and charged, taking the same steps until the wood gave and the gates flung open and followed by Lords they stormed the castle unannounced.

  
A common man and several of his companions were the first to surrounded the Duchess Cecily and her children in their foul swarm, one too much for young Richard as the small child, just eight years old clung to his mother and hid his face, the tears leaving his eyes, George three years poor Richard’s senior drew the dagger Edmund had given him in an attempt to ward off the mob of peasants, much to the amusement of an unkept man who regarded young George with a laugh. “Ahh a brave knight! How scared I am, shall I run in case he has been charged to defend his maiden?” The men laughed the gibe as the snatched the dagger from the boys hand, soon snatching the boy from his feet after, closing in on Duchess Cecily, she kept her head high and acted as though they were not there. They could not touch her. “We’ll have fun with this one later.” For that several men laughed, another joined the gibe.

  
“I’ve never had a duchess before!”

  
“None us have you fool!”

  
With that the crowd broke, the Duke of Somerset handed George back to his mother and shooed the men away. He’d searched the castle to no avail. “Lady Cecily, where is your husband?”

  
“Away I am afraid my Lord Somerset.”

  
“He was here last night.”

  
“Aye I cannot deny it though I did not see him.”

  
“Your sons, the Earls of March and Rutland, where be they?”

  
“With the duke I’d guess my lord.”

  
“You know not where they go?”

  
She shrugged a delicate shrug and lifted Richard into her arms as the sobbing child tried hard to regain himself. Somerset offered a pitied look as Jasper Tudor joined him, offering a confirming head shake that the duke had truly gone. “Then my lady for your safety and that of your children I assist you accompany us, there you can stay with your sister-in-law and will be kept both to your accustom and safety.”

  
“I’d rather-“

  
“My lady afraid I am this is not request but a summons from the king. Your husband and sons may be tried for treason should they be found, you may not be left unattended.”  
“I am to be a prisoner for the my husband’s sins?”

  
“Indeed madam.” He offered her a hurried bow and the woman turned her attention to a young maid who stood a little away.

  
“Mistress Helen fetch my trunk and that of my children’s. We shall be leaving here with these gentlemen.” With those words shefollowed the duke and the Tudor man from the castle, her children speedily on her trail, none wishing to be left behind with the foul lot of raggeds.

  
**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**   


  
**Calais, France**   


  
Edmund sat beside his brother, barely muttering his complaints as he had for the last few weeks, on the ship, when they landed, the boy had not stopped moaning. At first Edward had tried to play the caring older brother, to listen to what Rutland had to say and try to comfort him. Then however the boy had fallen into repeating himself in barely audible grumbles and that was just infuriating. He had tried to rip his attention from the boy by playing chess with William, that had not worked, for Edmund had simply spoken a little louder when he thought no one was paying him attention. Then Will had gone to speak to him, sat on the bed and tried to comfort Edmund, finally sending him to sleep. For the whole five minutes the brat slept. Then Edward had walked over and sat beside him trying to think of ways to shut him up so he could get some well needed rest. “What is the matter with you?”

  
“The matter? Oh Ned you-“

  
“No, don’t say it or I’ll walk away now and leave you with no money and food and you can beg like a peasant in the street.”

  
“That’s the matter, I am stuck here with you and your mood is quite terrible.”

  
Edward chuckled and ruffled the boys hair, ah how sweet the child could be, how proud he was. The boy thought he too good to be staying in a French inn, it didn’t help their cause of course that the boy remembered nil of the French they had learned in their childhood days of Rouen. “I am sorry my lord you are not quite suited to your accommodations, thought they good enough I did, clearly I, a mere servant to you was wrong.” He laughed and slapped Edmunds cheek. “Cheer yourself brother, have some wine by the fire and leave tension behind! It will do you no good to be so tense.”

  
“We are not all like you brother, able to throw away our worries with a humble lass.”

  
“Humble lass? Right truly, nor am I this day for a harlot I’ve not sought since we got here, though you do me remind me brother-“

  
“You’ll not bring a whore to this bed, I warn you of that.”

  
“Ah course brother.” He tapped Edmund’s head as he stood. “You need not be so worried, so tense, this is our first stride toward freedom and I like it.”

  
“You like that mother is not here to stop you bedding all the women in the port! That is what you like!”

  
“Aye.” Said with a chuckle and look toward William Hastings, a wink and then back to Edmund. “That and the wine here is cheap and strong. What more can a man ask?”

  
“Good health, prosperity, to return home to our lord and good father and our lady mother.”

  
“Then you would be like Margaret and Elizabeth and Anne.” He laughed once more and gulped down a goblet of wine pouring more he offered it to Edmund. “One drink cant harm now can it brother? It might stop your complain.”

  
“Or have him complain more.” Will laughed as he too downed more of the wine.

  
“In the morning mayhap, my brother is yet naïve to the effects of drink.”

  
“Right proud I am of it too!”

  
“Ah hush your words boy, ere’ drink this.” William Hastings approached holding a goblet of the wine and held the boys head making him drink the liquid down. “It’ll save you dying of thirst at the least.” The boy choked and spat, cold eyes fixing on William Hastings, then to his brother who was laughing as he sat by the burning fire.  
“You’re as bad brother!”

  
“Ah Will is right, hush it!”

  
They were silence as their attentions fell on the maid who had entered minutes before, she curtsied and smiled, her hair braided in French Plaits. She carried fresh linens inside a copper bowl and placed them on the table. Edmund sighed and scowled to his brother seeing the young man’s eyes fixed on the maids bosom. How he wished their father their to scold the boy for his indecency. “Ned!”

  
Edward’s eyes shot up, the maid noticed and stepped back, using her hands to cover her breasts, a ‘O’ shape forming with her delicate pink lips. “Monsieur!” She stepped away quickly and hurried out of the room closing the door behind her. Edward turned to his brother with questioning eyes.

  
“Was that necessary? It has harmless fun!”

  
“Harmless? Nay! You were thinking sinful thoughts.”

  
“I was not.”

  
“You were.”

  
“There is nothing sinful in love brother.”

  
“Love? Try lust you oaf.”

  
Edward laughed and shook his head drinking yet more of the wine sat upon the table, he did not understand his brother, how had the boy been bred so righteous? He had been born of the same two parents, raised by the same nurses and influenced as he had by William Hastings, so why did the boy not wish to take on such daring activities? Edward could not answer the question, not even as he looked to Will to confirm the answer, nothing came to him and he sat back, the three of them falling into comfortable silence. It wasn’t long then before they heard the measured breaths of sleep from the bed. “Bout time I’d say.”

  
“He needed sleep |Ned, be nice on him, he’s young and frightened.”

  
“He’s barely a year my junior-“

  
“Edward.” For the first time William Hastings pulled a sharp and fatherly tone with the boy, Edward nodded, accepting for once the man’s authority. If they were indeed to survive in Calais and prosper till the duke found a way for their return, they’d surely need to get on well and not have the brothers at each other’s throats.

  
**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**   


  
His attentions had for some time been set on this man, successful he’d figured. Edmund was once again sat at his brothers side, watching as Ned took a careful evaluation of the man. “What you think he sells?”

  
“Huh?” As though he had not been listening.

  
“I said what do you think he sells?”

  
“Ah, Edmund he sells needles.”

  
“Needles?” The younger of the brothers looked confused. For the four months they had been in France Edward had become ever more interested in the trade at the docks. Of course, Edmund had thought this must be related to the better sort of doxy his brother indeed had been able to find, or for the better wine and ale at the taverns there. Though it had, in part at least, been true there were more pressing interests the Earl of March had developed. For days he had sat, observed and then weeks, he had wandered, listened. It was a month prior to that day that Edward had finally tried his hand at trade, success had followed quickly.

  
Edmund was somewhat thankful; they were out of that shabby inn and staying in a house of reputation, even if they were paying boarding fees to the Duke of Burgundy for his hospitality. It seemed much more befitting for them, to be lodged in a manor not an inn. Edward rose quickly and approached the man, Edmund soon on his heels. “Good sir I beg you, how much per piece be those?”

  
“You’d want to know why boy?”

  
“A hundred crowns and-“

  
“You could have the lot! By the lord take them for half of that!”

  
“Nay I’d not, that would be as good as theft!”

  
“As would to take a hundred crowns from you, handsome lad you are. How’s this? 75.”

  
“Aye, profit we both do then.” Edmund watched in awestruck horror as his brother handed over a leather purse. “And ten for your good will.” He smiled and clicked his fingers to Edmund ordering him carry the box.

  
“Where are we taking this?”

  
“Why to the ship of course!”

  
“Why?”

  
“Do you know nothing brother? To sell in England.”

  
“We aren’t going to England.”

  
“Not yet, but soon we shall.”

  
“How do you know?”

  
“I got a letter from our father, a summons.”

  
“Surely it was Warwick and not you-“ Edmund took a breath and stopped as he looked upon his brothers face, he crossed himself with one hand. “Good Lord Ned, he’ll beat you black and blue if he knew!”

  
“He’d hardly dare!”

  
“He is our master whilst-“

  
Edward laughed, how naïve dear Edmund could sometimes be. He was only their ‘master’ if they were to allow it. No, it should not happen. Though it was clear in the boys youthful face he genuinely feared the Earl of Warwick, ah how he pitied the poor soul. Warwick was as any other man, and not the God-like being Edmund wanted him to be. Edward of course looked up to the man, he owed him favour for his teachings, his patience, his courtesy, sure, but he would not view Lord Warwick as his master, nor as his protector. He’d be damned if he’d fear the man. The heir of York feared no one. Poor little Edmund hurried behind his brother, careful not to drop the box of tiny silver sticks, he handed them on Edward’s order over to a young French man and Edward handed him a groat for his troubles, documents and orders too. It had been a day well spent in Edward’s opinion. He was even happy to listen to his brothers casual moaning as they walked back toward the manor.

  
It was late when they finally reached the manor, greeted by a red faced Warwick and a slap, it was – to everyone’s surprise – Edmund who reacted. “You cannot lay your hand on us!”

  
“And why not boy?”

  
“Ah, for we are son’s of the Duke of York and so royalty.”

  
“Tis’ true” Edward said, a smug look upon his face as he strode confidently past the Earl of Warwick, Rutland at his side, warmly greeted by William Hastings who hastily hung the boys cloaks and ordered their baths be filled.

  
“Not before I speak with them.” Warwick approached lifting both their faces up with a finger. “One of you have been through my effects, what were you looking for you light fingered toads?”

  
“I intercepted your post, a letter from my father, as is my right as your better Lord Warwick.”

  
“My better?” He released Edmund pushing the boy away, though he did not go, he watched with placid interest. “I am no lower than you, for you, like I am an earl.”  
“A royal earl, by birth, not by marriage, you are the son of an earl and I son of duke, that makes me your better and youmy lower, you are to serve on me as a dog should serve its master and I am, by right, permitted access to your effects when they concern my father, am I clear Lord Warwick?”

  
“The hell you are, Lord help you boy for I shall-“ Edmund caught the earls hand before it reached Edwards skin. “Release me you knave! Or I shall-“

  
“You shall do nothing my lord, except inform my father of thus, we will return to England, off the coast of Kent this June, Do not delay now.” With those words young Edward took his brothers arm and lead by William Hastings, they bathed long before a roaring fire.

 


	5. A Price Well Worth it's Pain

 

  
**Kent**   
**1460**

  
They had landed that morning and failed to seek refuge, Warwick had left the boys in a barn, lent to them by some unknowing peasant who would surely keep his mouth sealed tightly with a sword to his throat and 10 crowns for his silence, should it come to that. Edmund for once was less afraid than his older brother. Ned may not admit it he thought, but he’s petrified. The signs were clear, the young man was pacing, back and forth, an occasional hand ran through his hair and he stopped and scanned the area, his hand always resting on the hilt of his dagger. “Ned, calm yourself.”

  
“Silence brother.”

  
Mayhap, thought Edmund, his brothers distress was at the absence of their dearest friend William Hastings, the man had set off with Warwick at an order. Since the man had left them here Edward had been pacing and anxious, on edge. Surely it could not be that this companion of his brothers was not just his companion in whoring and drinking but his safety too? Edmund almost laughed at that fact, recalling all the times Edward had bullied him for his weakness claiming that he was no child in the House of York, for even the girls were stronger and less coward than he. Now the tables had turned, as they always did and it was he, the gentle Earl of Rutland who was not scared.

  
Yet when he thought of it, something was unnerving about his brother’s anxiety. Perhaps it was that he was so unused to it, for to all his brothers Edward had been the one they looked up to, the strong and tall one, the one who shone light into any room, the one who had - in their days at court – stood up against the evil Duke of Somerset. What had changed in his dear brother? A little too much French luxury? Too many French doxies? Had Edward grown soft from his time in Calais? That would just be too funny. Edmund tried hard to stifle a smile.

  
“What are you smirking at? You think this funny?”

  
“No brother, of course not.”

  
“You do, I told you coming back to England wasn’t a good idea but you, oh eager you were Edmund to come home. What has come of us coming home? Nothing good I’ll say for sure!”

  
“I’m sorry to have displeased you brother.”

  
Edward waved a hand and turned his attention to the door, the sound of hooves could be heard thumping the dry ground outside, he was silent, dagger drawn waiting. His mind wandered through the possibilities, he crouched and looked through the tiny crack in the rotting stable door. Men on horses, he could not see their leader. Of course it could be Warwick and William returning from their ventures with the support of local nobles, merchants, surfs… anyone would do. Edmund joined him and he pushed the boy to silence as he too tried to look through the door. A moment later they caught a glimpse of red and a man approached the barn, hand on the hilt of his sword. “Shi-“ Edward took a hold of his brothers arm pulling him away and thrusting him to the floor covering him with straw trying his best to do the same across the barn before the door opened with a crack.

  
The man paced a few times, first satisfied the barn was empty. He, for one, had not been of the convinced majority when Queen Margaret had told them to search the county of Kent for she had heard The Earls of March and Rutland had landed there; no he had not been convinced at all. For all his faults the Duke of York was not a foolish man, he surely would not let the boys alone in Kent, away from any form of help, away from their strongholds and their castles. Besides, even if it were true, doubtless the boys would be half way to York by now and raising an army in their namesake city. No this search was futile, pointless, yet it was warranted on royal orders, what was ordered must be done.

  
He was hardly surprised at the emptiness of this barn; he had searched half of Kent why should one measly peasant barn prove any different from the other searches? But then it had seemed odd, out of place; why had a peasant got a single burning torch? In a barn with straw, surely he would not leave such unattended with such precious provisions. No this did seem odd. He stepped back inside the barn, closing the door so anyone there would think he gone. A year older he thought he may have missed it, the tiniest movement there in the straw. He walked quickly thrusting his sword deep into the straw greeted by the rewarding sound of whimpering, and then he pushed aside the blood coated straw and lifted the boy from bed he’d clearly made. Looked over the brat and sighed, there was no way this boy could be one he was looking for. “Was’ your name lad?”

  
A moment’s pause with no reply from the boy, other than the sobbing as he tried to tend his bleeding leg through the tattered hoes before the man spoke once again shaking the boy this time. “I asked you, what’s your name?” Then happened the most surprising thing, the child for all his bravery spat in insult at the man’s feet. The shock was enough, he released the brat and set a quick pursuit as the creature fled. So it was true, but where was the other?

  
No time for that, he looked around the barn once more, the other would have to wait, he was sure they’d make the York brat talk when they caught him, if they caught him. He ran fast, following the blood trail into the forest, the sound of men on horses already ahead. He’d mounted his war horse quickly, taking her at canter through the trees. The boy was not hard to spot, resting for obvious exhaustion by a broad oak. The man pulled the horse a halt and jumped down seizing the boy by the arms lifting his head. A beautiful face, it seemed almost a shame as he punched him. “Which one are you? Tell me!”

  
“You’ll not get a word out of me.”

  
“Oh we’ll see about that.” He lifted the boy onto the horse, using the reigns to help bind the boy’s feet and a length of ivy to bind his hands; the child was silent for the long journey away. Despite their asking, their threats and promises the boy had said nothing as to his name or his brother’s location. Mayhap thought the man, the child really would not speak.

 

**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**

  
Before the Queen the boy still did not speak, kneeling at her feet she had stood, paced round him, lifted his head, slapped his pretty little face, threatened him, promised him and asked his intentions and still he had remained as silent as a mute mouse in a room of cats. He’d looked at no one. She sat back in her throne and looked at him, this would be a problem, and what was she to do? This young man was not guiltless, and he would be the best source of information of his father’s whereabouts, that was what they needed to know. Yet Henry’s seal would be needed to send the boy to the Tower for interrogation, for her to force that seal would see her all the less popular. She leaned forward and tried to smile and the man who had brought him held the boys head firm, looking toward her. “Edward, we’ll try this one more time, where is your brother?”  
“Burn in hell like the whore you are.”

  
She sighed and waved her hand, hardly hearing the boys whimper as the men lifted him, half dragging him from the hall.

 

**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**

He’d arrived at the Tower ten minutes before, no time had been wasted in stripping him bare and changing him, without care, into black hose and no shirt, shackled wrists and feet, they’d dragged him to a dungeon his hands placed above his head where he hung from a hook on the wall, no chance of escape, they’d rested his feet on a wooden stool and left him darkness to think. Was Edmund truly worth his pain? The brat could have looked after himself, yet it was he and not Edmund who had moved in that straw, no advantage would have come from these creatures having them both. His father would surely have heard of his capture? Would be travelling from Dublin to help him now?

His thoughts were broken as the leather clad man approached; in his hand was a scroll which he showed with pleasure. “The Queen was specific I see, the rack is permitted only after the gentle forms of persuasion have failed. A part of me boy, it hopes you don’t talk.”

The thought of the rack made him shudder, a terrifying thought of the crippling deformation. All for his father, for his brothers. He took a breath as the man pulled him from the hook throwing him to his knees on the cold stone floor, his head lifted the man brought a cup to his lips. “Drink.” He did, for the force that opened his mouth, his head thrown back as a putrid substance slipped down his throat he choked. “I’m to keep you with plenty of fluid, the Queen don’t want you passing out for dryness now.” He was lifted from his knees and walked with his eyes covered, lifted into a barrel, an empty wooden barrel. He heard the squeaking before the man had reached him. Then the scurrying of rats about his feet made him cringe, he bit down on his lip and felt the blood run down his chin as he held back the scream as the rats bit into his feet.

Dragged from the barrel crying in pain, blood dripping from his feet, trailing along the floor he was thrown down by the fire, whimpering because of its heat. So close, the flames almost touched his skin, he was damp with sweat, his skin quickly turning rosy. The man approached lifting Edwards arm without word he gave no option to speak before he lifted the man lifted a metal poker, a shaped plate at its end, glowing orange. The boy cried out as the metal burnt into his skin, blood running down his arm.

 

**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**

Three days had passed since his arrival at the Tower, sleep deprived and weak with hunger he had almost told them everything, but the pain had not yet broken him. He hung from the hook, this time no stool to support his weight, blinded by cloths tied about his eyes, he’d spent the night sobbing half for fear, half his own misery. His feet burned from the salt they’d used to seal his wounds, his throat sore from dryness, each breath was agony. Yet he’d not given them what they wanted to hear.

  
That was until the man had returned, another scroll in his hand, he didn’t show the boy this time, instead with the assisstance of four men, he was carried struggling, screaming to the wooden table which had its own room, his hands and feet forced apart, bound by the ropes at either end of the device, the ropes tightened so his body was even, lifted an inch off the slatted surface.

“You know where you are boy?”

He shook his head weakly; trying to struggle from the bindings he heard the slight click, felt the slight pull and tears left his eyes. It had come to this?

“You don’t have to feel it, just speak of where your brother is, Lord Warwick too and you’ll spare yourself the certain agony.”

“I don’t know where they are.” He said the words through sobs, an answer he had known would not be good enough for the man, the click once more, a harder tug, a pause, the man asked again, Edward repeated his answer, another click, another tug, this time pain spread down his arm, he bit his lip to hold the cry, another and he cried out, he felt the man approach, drip water on his head and wipe away the sweat already forming, a drop of water on the wrists and feet also. Then he asked again “I don’t know, I don’t.” The pull should have been enough, the crack filled the room, the leather clad man tipped a bucket of water over the sobbing creature washing away both blood and vomit, as often was the case. He waited a moment for the boy to compose himself, inhaling sharply, enough to speak.

“Tell me.”

With insistence the boy shook his head, coughing and crying out once more as the next tug brought another scream when the ankles left their sockets, the leather clad man cringed, fear for himself. The highest rank of man to whom he had done this was a knight, men with little influence… He could not help but wonder what repercussions could come of this. Edward felt one last tug, he cried out in pain the pause was long enough for him to mutter his words in pants of agony “I left them in Kent, Warwick, he went to gather men… My brother Edmund was with me in the barn but I know not if they found him or where they went!”

“What’s York’s intentions when he returns?”

“I don’t know-“ He cried out again as he heard the click “He wants to confront the Queen… Queen Margaret, says there’s no place for a woman on the throne of England.”

“Did you play a part in his plan?”

“In that I am his son yes-“

“So you are, as he, guilty of treason?”

“We wish not death upon the king! We wish only justice, I beg you no more.”

“One more question. Do you accept Queen Margaret as your sovereign queen and pledge to serve her and love her as a most loyal subject? Your head be removed from your shoulders should you break this word.”

“I do, her grace Wueen Margaret is rightful queen-“

“And her son Prince Edward the rightful heir?”

“Aye.”

Tears left his eyes as he felt the pressure release, he fell to the slats on the table with a thud, he knew nothing as the ropes were undone and he lifted, carried from the dungeon into the light, up some stairs and laid on a bed with a straw mattress, rugs placed over him for warmth. Unconcious, shivering and slipping into fevers he knew nothing of life for three days.  Only awoken several by a young woman singing as she entered. He’d seen the woman before, sure he was of that, many years before. Yes, she had been a lady to the queen, Lady Rivers daughter. Yes, he never forgot a pretty face. The woman smiled as she saw him wake, offered a small curtsy “My lord, right glad I am to see you wake, are you well?”

The pain had not dulled, he would not give her that satisfaction though, he nodded but winced in agony. She smiled and lifted his head, pressing a cup to his lips, it smelt like sweet nectar, tasted sweeter as he gulped down the malmsey in one. “Careful now, it’s for the pain, your stomach is empty! You’ll be easily drunk.” He didn’t seem to care she noticed, poor soul, she’d seen the cuts at his feet, the rope burns at his wrists, the slashes from the whip at his back, the branding of a traitor on his wrist, she couldn’t help but pity him. She remembered the boy from Somerset’s care, how her mother had told her, when she had looked down upon the small child, that the boy had done nothing wrong and was guilty of no crime except his birth to the House of York. She couldn’t help but think it still true.

 

 

**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**

The request to see his brother was one soon regretted of course; he and Will had made deal with the queen, refusing to tell her a single detail until they saw him. The journey to the tower had then been an uncomfortable one, they had no harm of yet had befallen them; was this luck like no other or dire misfortune?  
  
Their arrival at the tower fell unannounced, greeted by men already waiting; in cold, dark silence they walked through the walls the the white tower, inside and down the steps which for Edmund needed no introduction. The Anjou whores words flew around his head, from them moment he had been brought to London bound and gagged she had told him no harm of this nature would be his to experience, if he were like his brother she would wither with age before a word left his mouth. How furious it made him, he was furious with Ned as it had been to shame the house of York for him to tell all he had. The heavy doors were opened one by one, as painful as any torture at the slow pace they heaved open. He was pushed through, Will left outside and away from conviction.  
  
The chamber was dark, fires burning to raging heat, hooks and chains and knives and clasps... Anything to inflict pain, to make the strongest of men weak at the knees. "My lord of Rutland." The bow was mockery and all did know it as they laughed, a joke shared at his expense, a joke he ignored without good returning of their humour.  
  
"The earl of March, where be he?"  
  
"Aye, so quick to it though? Won't you savour it?"  
  
"Savour the misery of others? Pitiful misery? I think not, take me to my brother."  
  
"Of course my lord."  
  
The large man was laidened down in thick black leather, keys at his belt along with a dagger, many other objects which slipped Edmunds knowledge. Through more doors before he heard the moaning, crying, melancholic cries out for help, for mercy, for anything. The man stopped by the open door, pushed the young earl through and followed, locking the door.  
  
Nothing known to man nor Satan could have prepared Edmund for the sight, of that he was sure. The smell alone was putrid, vomit, blood, sweat and other foul things the body had to offer each combined, yet such horrors were not in the olfactory senses, but bore into his mind through way of his vision. Edward lay helpless upon the stone floor, half naked, his modesty spared only by white blood stained rags, his skin was cut, branded as a traitor and half his face obscured by bloodied rags. His instant need was to look away, to flee and leave his brother to this hell alone, for he could surely take no more. Fear and shame bound him to the ground, before the man approached Edward, placing a well-aimed kick into his ribs laughing as whimpering filled the air. "My lord of March, you seem to have a visitor, your brother of Rutland be here to see you, shame you cannot have such a luxury as to see him."  
  
"Edmund-" his words were weak, cut off by coughing brought anew when the huge man lifted him from the floor forcing him to hold a metal bar for support. Edmund watched, his brother weak in his feet, the displace bones only clear now, his heart beat so hard it threatened to break free of its skeletal restraints and into the hands of his enemies, a sacrifice he'd make to spare his brother this pain.  
  
"You blinded him?"  
  
"So he can no more see to commit his treason, no more have eyes for other than the King and Queen Margaret."  
  
"Oh Ned, Jesus what have they done to you?" He muttered the words and felt himself, involuntarily step forward, no control over his body nor himself did he stroke a hand over his brother’s rough cheek, almost losing control of his emotions as he moved away in fear. "It's me Ned, I won't hurt you."  
  
It was as though he voice was alien, with need Edmund had stepped away, momentarily ending his brothers torment before the human incarnation of hells demons stepped forward with chains, knocking Edward to his knees he wrapped the iron links around his throat, Edmund gasped and looked away. "He has told you all he knows! Surely, why do you so willingly cause him such agony?"  
  
The man ignored Edmund and his obvious sobs, compelling the young earl to follow as he watched his brother be dragged along the floor and through the threshold to an inner chamber of freezing temperature, lifted by four men and bound to the device he knew to be more fearsome than hell itself. He watched his brother’s uncontrolled shakes, sobbing, he struggled little for all his objections. "Don't, please." He was easily cut off as without warning the men pulled at the levers, four clicks sounding as one, Edmund closed his eyes at the blood curdling scream. He could not tell which sickened him more, these men's wills to hurt or his voluntary following of his brother’s pain, no man held him here yet he could not leave. "Where is his lord of Warwick? Of York?" The man directed his words to Edward, clearly unable to speak through heart wrenching sobs, he shook his head involuntarily, Edmund did not speak up, this interrogation of course was not his brothers, they had exhausted his tongue days ago and all knew, Edmund need look no further than the sight before him to know.  
  
"Where?" The next three clicks came in rapid succession, more crying and Edmund slumped to the floor, blood surfaced from his skin as his nails cut deep, tears left his eyes as he heard the words of prayer, another scream and he knew he'd break. Never had he seen Edward, the brother who teased him in Calais, at Ludlow, who beat him for his phobias and stood up to the duke of Somerset, never had he seen Ned so fearful, so broken, choking on his own fear and pain. The sudden crack made him cry out, Ned had not, Edmund jumped to his feet in confusion, seen the apparently lifeless body and surrendered to sobs as he fell to his knees, unhindered, beside the wretched device. "His lord Warwick plans to march upon London, my father also, they will be headed now with their armies."  
  
"From where?"  
  
"My father the duke from the north, Warwick from Devon."  
  
"You have no men awaiting you?"  
  
"By God do you not think that pointless now!"  
  
"Forgive me my lord. I will fetch wine for your brother."  
  
The little mercy counted for nothing as he climbed to his feet, a hand stroking his brothers cheek, no reflex to move away, just silence momentarily unbroken by movement. "Cloths too! Fetch cloths and linen you knaves! You there, have a fire burning and for the love of God fetch a physician."  
  
What use it would do he could not say, but he'd try, lord he would certainly try.

 

**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**

** Baynards Castle **

**   
  
** "Edward I'm sorry." Cecily Neville bit down on her lip as she held her sons feet, Edmund holding his shoulders as she slipped the joints back into their cases. "How are you feeling.... Edmund let him go, get out, go on." She watched as Edmund fled sitting beside Edward as he sobbed, for the first time in so many years passed he allowed her to pull him close, resting his head against her soft belly as she stroked soft blonde hair. She looked up in silence as the door creaked open, to her horror the small figure in the door had seen all too much, Edward had tried to wipe his tears before his brother saw, to no avail.    
  
"Don't cry Ned."   
  
"Richard, not now sweeting."  
  
"Now is fine ma mere." Edward sat, with effort, kissed her cheek, his hand lingered over hers for only a moment, unwilling to let the maternal comfort leave him. As the child climbed upon the bed and buried his head into his brothers chest, flinging arms around his waist he seemed to have no choice, Cecily had stepped away. Smiling as she watched the sight before her, Richard playing his hand at nursing as he forced his brother to lay upon his back, gently feeding him wine, providing him the opiates the queens physician had supplied, before the child laid beside him, his head resting on Edwards chest.   
  
There was nothing more she could do. As she heard the crash of silver she sighed, her husbands entrance was imminent, Edmund would have, should have avoided the dukes anger and escaped the whipping due. She heard the words she knew he'd demand, then the thud before the door opened and all fell silent before the duke whispered. "Cecily, is the boy alive?"  
  
"He's fine my lord, pained but fine."  
  
"Then let us have our leave let him sleep away his exhaustion, do not tell me what they did. I wish not to hear it, tell me though. The word cannot be true?"  
  
"My lord, be more specific, for many words have been uttered today, none I fear you'd will your wife to repeat."  
  
He tried to smile, yet his mood was too solemn. "He is not without sight?"  
  
She scoffed and smiled. "If he is my lord then ever he has been! He saw well enough to engage in his flirting with Jessica."   
  
"I never thought his whoring would bring me such joy, only flirt? The boy must be unwell wife."  
  
"I said flirt for I wished only not repeat his real actions."   
  
Richard, Duke of York for the first time in months laughed as he walked, taking his wife in his arms before he walked on, searching the walls for Edmund. ****.    



	6. In Sickness and In Health

  
**York Cathedral**   
**September 1460**   


  
Father Thomas stood at the altar, muttering prayers to the great Lord, the chapel had slowly filled, divided by the sexes, men to the right and woman to the left, each dressed in their fine robes of state, indicating their wealth. Toward the back several commons had piled in, serfs with their children dressed in filthy rags, merchants and their wives claiming the last of the seats, dressed in bright colours and fine clothes but none dressed so fine as the Duke and Duchess of York, their robes of state purple in colour, gold about their necks and fine jewels. Each York child dressed to match his father or her mother, beside them each sat muttering among themselves, the Beauforts’ a row behind, muttering distasteful curses to the great family in the church.

  
Father Thomas could not see why the arrangement had been brought about, no good would come of this, it was no romance tale where the couple would be wed happily and the problems which before had escalated would be forgotten, grudges forgiven. The young girl was he’d heard a widow, at only fifteen, such terrible news, with her she would bring a child to the marriage. The duke he had heard had been most unhappy with the proposal, had appealed to the king and queen yet they had forced the ceremony to go ahead, so he had read on the carefully worded document he had been sent, the royal seal prominent at its bottom. He had shuddered at the words, he shuddered once mores and turned to the crucifix and crossed himself as the musicians played their piece, the bridegroom, as was custom walking just before the bride, the young girls face covered, her hair tied back in the way most fashionable among the lady kind.

  
The priest turned back to his congregation, greeted the young couple with a smile as both kneeled before him in reluctance. Never before had he seen a less eager couple on their wedding day, their eyes did not once meet. He spoke clearly as he addressed the congregation, careful eyes focused on the Duke and Duchess of York. “We gather here today, before God our father and the holy Virgin to join this couple in holy matrimony. It is with great pride, by order of our King, the most royal and righteous King Henry, that I offer unto you, Edward Plantagenet Earl of March this handsome prize, Lady Margaret Beaufort into your care and keep till do you both part.”

  
He placed a blessing upon them both, his hand lingering on the poor girls head. They both rose slowly and faced each other, holding hands with hesitation Edward spoke in a hushed tone, his eyes never meeting the girl before him. “I, Edward Plantagenet, Earl of March, take thee Margaret Beaufort to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, for fairer or fouler, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death us depart, according to Gods holy ordinance and thereunto I plight thee my troth.”

  
She tried to smile, tried hard to look into his eyes, to take his words and have them warm her, remove the feeling of ice which settled in her heart as she took a breath and repeated those words her mother had told her, those words that she had said once before, she said them once again, their desolate meaning, how pointless they seemed. “I, Lady Margaret Beaufort take thee, Edward Plantagenet to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to be bonny and buxom at bed and at board, to love and to cherish till death us depart, according to the Gods holy ordinance and thereunto I plight thee my troth.”

  
“Then by the power vested in me by our holy father, I pronounce you man and wife.” Edward took the ring which rested on a red cushion, held to him by a young boy upon his knees and placed it on Margaret’s finger, a slight satisfied smile as he felt her shudder/ “You may kiss the bride.” The crowd clapped and cheered, as though this outrage they saw was a thing truly good, as the couple kissed no one paid attention to the young girl as she crossed herself and whispered the words to her new wed husband.  
“Do not think you shall touch me my lord.”

  
“That I shall not.” He smirked and stepped away, taking the girls hand they walked together from the chapel, out into the city of York, lifted onto the horse, she in front of him playing her merry part she waved to the people as she had been commanded to, and the people cheered for joy. It must be the case they all thought, that the wars which had plagued the country must finally be at their end.

  
The festivities were ones to rival the royal court, the duke had ensured that. For he had wanted, with this wedding, to prove a point to the Beauforts’, his point, that it was the York dynasty and not the Beauforts’ who made the decisions in England, that he knew with his splendid performance would not be questioned. He smiled as his eldest son, a handsome tall boy took his place beside his new wife on the dais. How happy their façade portrayed they were, of course, he knew of their unhappiness; Edward had needed to be dragged to the chapel by himself for the marriage to take place. Of course, he had been as reluctant as the rest of the household to marry his finest child to a woman of questionable legitimacy. Of course, her paternity was not in question, but the Beaufort’s retained their power through their claim to the English throne, one which the duke noted was scarcely worth considering. Not only were they the decedents of the second child of Edward III, and he decedent of the first, it was of course suggested that the Beauforts were a

n illegitimate family, and though for generations they had been in marriages recognised by the church, few nobles forgot that they had come from a mistress of John of Gaunt.  
Yet if nothing more Edward would gain wealth for himself, the girl had come with a handsome royal dowry, one which the duke had made clear would be kept by his son in case of divorce or death. He watched his wife, the woman of great beauty, shudder as the new couple kissed, their show he saw was quite convincing, his heart pounded in his chest, the fear for the thought of the honeymoon night they would have to conduct. Of course Duchess Cecily had prepared their sons rooms, with the help of William Hastings, the sheets had been blessed and the bed freshly made, the fires were already burning and the couple would have food and wine.

  
Yet the duke could not help think, as he ate and watched his son acting away to please the crowds that this night would, to say the least be a disaster. Fortunately, and courtesy of Edmund and George drawn from his fears and into conversation, the boys wanted their fathers opinions on battle tactics, ones they had learned from Warwick, Edward joined the conversation, giving his opinions with a laugh each time he received a discouraging glance from one of the women, his new wife particularly. The duke smiled, how the girl would have to learn, she was no longer a servant to the House of Lancaster, she would need to adjust, of course she would have time, but of course, they would not indefinitely tolerate her disapproving nature as they spoke of the battles they had one against this girls own family.

 

Margaret had joined her mother after the feasting had ceased, Edward had been led off by his father and brothers, surrounded by menservants and friends, each cheering and carrying beakers of wine and ale as they led the young man away with a rowdy performance of cheers and shouts. “Lady mother, what am I to do?”

  
“What can you do girl? Here you are now and this is no time for weak heartedness.”

  
“You surely cannot expect I lay with him?”

  
“My dear girl I expect much more, as will he I need not say.”

  
She did not mention their exchange at the church, how he had looked at her as though she were the plague, how he wished not to touch her as she wished not to touch him. She simply nodded to her mother and followed as the Duchess Cecily gained their attentions, leading the way in slow and silent procession up to her sons apartments and then to the bed chamber. “You have a new dress set out there” She nodded to a peg holding a dress of blue velvet. “Of course, this is not new to you and certainly not your first time I hear, so I need not warn you of pains. My son is new to the marriage bed, mayhap you could be decent and please him accordingly.”

  
The Beauforts bowed to the duchess as she left, her daughters at her trail each head held high. Margaret shivered as her mother unlaced the back of her dress. “Mother I wish not to.”

  
“You my child are a girl, you get nothing of you wish, you will please him and hope he is kind, he is of royal blood, it should suffice you-“

  
“He is a York, not royal-“

  
“Some Margaret dare say that he is more royal than King Henry, that his father should be on the throne, from now on you shall agree with them and mention nothing of your loyalty to upset them.”

  
“Lady mother-“

  
“Enough girl I shall hear no more complaints, please him or do not, I shall not be here to assist you should dissatisfy him enough to warrant he strike you.” She held out a hand allowing her daughter to gracefully step out of the dress, a maid conducted her to the wash bowl helping Margaret to clean and dry herself before dressing in the tight blue velvet dress, a silver belt around its waist. The maid curtsied and dismissed herself as the duchess returned, an announcement the men would soon be ready to conduct her son to his bed, that Margaret should be ready. Her mother was combing her hair ready to tie it into the headdress, the duchess slapped her hand.

  
“Are you ill woman or have you no taste? My son would will her hair loose, not tied to her head as though she were a doll.” The duchess looked over the girl and used a finger to lift her chin, a sigh she shook her head. “It will have to do I suppose?”

  
“My lady?”

  
“There are prettier girls Margaret, I daresay my son will be disappointed.” She looked at the girls bosom and sighed stepping behind the girl she pulled the dress strings tighter. “How old are you girl?”

  
“Fifteen my lady.”

  
“There is time yet I suppose.”

  
“For what-“

  
“Do not question me, but since you must know, your breasts they are as good as flat.”

  
Margaret flushed red and looked to the floor jolting as the duchess tied the lacings of the dress stepping back. “You will do, you should be ready and laying on the bed when he arrives. Come Lady Beaufort, you may leave your daughter in our care now, there is no need for you here.” Margaret shuddered as the women left her alone, she made her way to a chair siting herself in it, wanting not to lay on that dreaded bed. Her eyes remained downcast for the five silent minutes until the doors burst open and Edward emerged carried by a group of men, each cheering and handing him cups of wine, each he drank down and thanked them. William Hastings muttered a few words in Edward’s ear causing laughter before he pushed the men from the chamber and closed the doors, his eyes looking over the woman before him.

  
“Stand up,” His voice was quiet but authorative, she stood and curtsied as he stepped forward, lifted her chin with his finger and looked into her eyes. “You have pretty eyes. It’s a shame nothing else of you is pretty.” His hand dropped quickly, scraping her breast he stepped away, turning his back to her making his way to the bed, he stripped his upper half of his clothing and smiled, his eyes cast on her nervous face. “Come here then.” He did not know what it was, as the girl approached him, that made him almost forget the words he’d muttered to her before the altar. Perhaps it was that he knew William Hastings would be outside the door, waiting to report back to his father everything he heard, or the way the girl seemed so vulnerable, submissive, it would have been easy he knew. Yet as she stood still before him, he felt her shudder as his hand touched her face. “Turn around,” She did so, delicate steps, he was careful to unlace the dress delicately, not ripping the fabric or knotting the lace he hung it on a peg once she stepped out of it he pulled back the sheets. “Sleep comfortably.”

  
“You don’t-“

  
“Are you deaf? Did you not hear my words in the church? You wish me not to touch you, I shall not.”

  
She smiled and climbed into the bed, a few moments passed before she felt him slip in beside her, his hot breath on the back of her neck, the sweet smell of ambergris, she sensed his body and sighed, rolling she faced him, he looked away. She could not deny the attraction, physically at least, was there, as he moved, her eyes tracing his muscles she wanted him more, to reach out and touch him, to hold him. She could not, her vanity, her pride would not allow it. They were enemies, even in the marriage bed she could not love him, not as she was supposed to. She sighed and closed her eyes, trying hard to dismiss the want to kiss him, to let him take her if it would please him. A quick moment she opened her eyes, listened to his breaths and knew, how quickly he had fallen asleep.


	7. Sacrifice

  
**Wakefield**   
**December 1461**   


  
My lord.” A young man dressed in the colours of the Duke of Somerset approached, offered a bow.

  
“What is it lad?”

  
“The duke begs you remember the terms-“

  
“We siege tonight, I care not for a peaceful truce over the Christ-tide period, we’ll siege tonight when they least expect. The castle surely cannot hold out against us.”

  
“My lord, the duke will be most-“

  
“Tell my Lord Somerset that should the king ask, it is of my own call. He need play no part-“

  
“Trollope, you are not the one to make the call here.” The Duke of Somerset approached, ignoring the men as they bowed to him. “We shall siege tonight, first tell me” his attention turned to the young man “did Yorks boy arrive?”

  
“No my lord, he was held up in Wales-“

  
“Jasper Tudor?”

  
“Aye my lord.”

  
“How did that battle-“

  
“They have not met yet my lord.”

  
“Then we siege tonight before reinforcement arrives, Lord help us and have mercy should Edward of York arrive with his army.”

  
“They are purely trained ruffiens-“

  
“Poorly trained Welsh ruffiens they may be, he is a general to rival the great fifth Henry.” A curious look came over the dukes face. He knew York would have caught their presence, perhaps he did not know how close they were but he was certainly aware of their approaching, he would surely be on guard. “Andrew, do you much like the art of mumming?”

  
“My Lord Somerset?”

  
“The question is simple, do you like mumming?”

  
“Its an entertainment-“ As though the lord had understood he smiled. “Your plan would be to have our men-“

  
“Not our men, but us. We shall search the town for gowns, dress low lord, they would not believe our act should we look like ladies of high status.”

_**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----** _

 

Edmund of Rutland had heard the news of several women approaching the castle, of course the archers had offered to fire arrows to deter the good ladies, the duke had said no. For what harm could two lovely serf women vest upon them? Edmund had frozen for his fear, trying hard to hold back his tears, he dared not confess to his father his wish to flee, to meet with his brother in Wales or at Ludlow, to be safe from this madness. Those women he knew were not to be trusted.

  
Fury had set in when his father had not listened, now the army of a little over a thousand men were readying themselves to leave the castle. His father the duke had of course denied such a luxury but these men Edmund recalled were commoners, they would not listen to the duke’s word unless it suited them – this time is most certainly did not.  
Edmund heard his father’s shouts, bellowing orders to various people, the Earl of Salisbury for one – Lord Warwick’s father, joined the man in shouting to the foot soldiers as they opened the castle doors. It came as no surprise when the sound of horses hooves beating a the ground and the shouting of men greeted his ears. Rutland jumped to his feet drawing his sword, he’d had no time to prepare his armour, none of them had, and he fled down the steps toward the heart of the commotion. His eyes scanned, the duke seemed easy in fighting several men, blood spewed and people cried. The Lancastrian force seemed endless, men charged and drew back to charge again to be cut down, and then more would charge in endless forms. They were greatly outnumbered and the Earl knew it, but hope was not lost, men were being slaughtered, cut down as though these soldiers were the plague in a tiny village.

  
He recognised few faces as the men thrusts swords into one another, slashing and stabbing, smacking and kicking. Edmund had killed ten men already, for the five minutes he had been in battle, still confident they may win, confident Edward may show up with his army, or Warwick from St Albans… There was time yet. His determination was raw, fuelled by his fear more than his pride, his heart said he should flee, his brain told him to stand his ground and fight, for running would mean certain death, no matter who the victor of this battle.

  
His eyes fixed on the man he knew so well, opposing sides Lord Tifftoff, a man whom he had met so many times at the events of court, a man from whom hiding had been a game in his childhood days, running through London with Edward gripping his hand Tifftoff chasing them for the fruit or spices they had stolen from his pantry or for their cheek, he cast Edmund a look, a smile before he and the Duke of Somerset closed in on York, swords drawn. Edmund moved fast, calling out as he did to no avail. It was in that moment the cause seemed lost, his feet ceased to hold him and he fell to the ground. Before him he watched as his father, a man he loved, a man so great dropped to his knees, a sword through his heart, colour draining from his face, Somerset used a dagger to slit the man’s throat and he fell to the ground.

  
Edmund’s heart broke, the battlefield froze, everything was cold, silent but only for a moment. The rest of army dropped their swords, fleeing from the battle, Salisbury calling for them to return as he tried to hold off the Lancastrian mob from touching his nephew. “Edmund! Run!”

  
He scrambled to his feet and into the arms of Andrew Trollope, the Lancastrain turncoat traitor, a blade quickly held to his throat, Salisbury too, taken to his knees with a sword through his gut. The tears escaped poor Edmund’s eyes he gulped back the shame and tried to catch his breath, he didn’t try to call out as the Lancastrian lords dragged him back inside the castle throwing him to the ground, he knew what was to come, he’d seen his fate so easily outside. A shudder ran down his spine as the shouting stopped and the bodies of two men, his father and the earl of Salisbury, we carried inside and thrown onto the ground.

  
Trollope regarded the boy with a cruel smile, perhaps he should have mercy, perhaps the Duke of Somerset would try to make him be gentle, perhaps spare him if he could buy pardon from the queen. Somerset was busy wiping the blood from his sword, he’d hardly paid the boy a bit off attention as he spoke. “Edmund, oh Edmund. I thought you’d fair better.” He held up a hand to silence the boy as he tried to speak. “Shame your good for nothing brother didn’t show his face, to kill him too, that would just have made the day too grand. We’ll save it for later, it will hold.”

  
The duke looked toward Trollope and nodded, making the man smile all the more. He lifted Rutland by his scruff, stopping as the duke held up a hand letting the boy beg, the strangest of requests, he wished to write a letter before he died, wished to write it and send it on its way. What harm could it do? Of course Somerset knew to whom he would write, but the Earl of March would soon hear the news anyway, no disadvantage would come from the boy writing his little note.

_**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----** _

  
**Ludlow Castle**   
**January 1461**   


  
_My Dearest Brother Ned_   


  
_Regretful I am I could not bring this news by me person, Wakefield was an ambush, Our most noble lord and father was here slain on the battle field, no mercy spared nor parson offered, the Earl of Salisbury too._   


  
_I fear it with good reason that I be next, Andrew Trollope and the Duke of Somerset be the bringers of my fate, our fathers too. They will not spare you mercy brother, as they have not spared it to me. Be safe, do not forget me and whilst you live, remember me in your prayers, for fear it I do that we shall meet again soon, in heaven albeit so._   
_Not give up on our cause, honour father in death as life, let this not have been in vein._   


  
_Your loving brother, most faithful friend._   
_E. Rutland_   


  
William Hastings had seen the words, read the letter which Edward had quickly cast aside, now William searched the castle for Lord Warwick, the man had recently saught refuge in the stronghold after his defeat at Saint Albans. The news had come at the worst time of course, Edward and he had returned from battle at Mortimers Cross, tired and aching but high from the thrill of victory, drunk on the glory, even Warwick’s sombre mood had not brought the young earl down. Now however, William Hastings had needed to act fast, had poured a hot bath for his master and left him to his troubles – only at his order.

  
“Lord Warwick-“

  
“If you have come to gloat your victory-“ Warwick had cut his words short seeing the look of pain on William Hastings face, he turned in his chair and stood. “What is it William?”

  
“The Duke was killed in battle…”

  
For a moment the words did not touch him, then his hand hit the table, his weight suddenly too much for him as the news continued, the list of dead poured out further. All the great nobles at Wakefield had been killed, The Duke of York, his own father, the Earl of Salisbury and even young Edmund the poor Earl of Rutland had not been spared mercy, their heads were as they spoke being displayed on the walls of York. He took a moment and composed himself, there were things that had to be done, speeches that needed to be said. “Edward, he knows?”

  
“He was the one who received the letter.”

  
“How does he take it?”

  
“As you would expect, he cries and shivers, he’s crippled by the news.”

  
“His wife, Lady, nay Duchess Margaret, is she with him?”

  
“As best she can be, he will not let her near, claims her kind are the ones who did it, the Duke of Somerset-“

  
“I had no doubt he’d be mentioned, Lord Tifftoff too I doubt it not?”

  
William Hastings nodded and sighed, placing the letter on the table before Warwick letting the man read it before, in a fit of anger, he scrunched the parchment and launched it into the fire, watching it blaze and turn to ash.. “Inform, if you would be so kind, my cousin of his new position.”

  
“He wishes-“

  
“His wishes are not of worry to me, we choose not our titles.”

  
“Of course my lord.” William bowed deeply and left, walking the halls to Edward’s apartments entering nervously, for once afraid he’d see the dark side of Edward’s mood, it was not so. Though sombre still, he’d made his way to the grand bed and laid himself among the sheets, Lady Margaret stroking his hair, she’d done enough to hush his tears. Hastings offered both a bow. It was the lady who spoke, a levelled tone. “Is it true what I hear? Am I not now a duchess?”

  
“Indeed you are my lady >”

  
“My husband a duke?”

  
“No-“ Edward looked up, briefly, red eyed and shook his head falling back into the pillows and whimpering, whimpers quickly turned to sobs and Lady Margaret was the one to rub his back, William Hastings sitting on the bed lifted his friend and held him close.

  
“Ned, listen. You have to take your father’s name, his titles, else what was this all for? You cannot shame him now, you cannot you are a grandson to the Mortimer’s, descended through Lionel from King Edward the third., surely you cannot wish-“

  
“I wish my father alive Will, that’s all I wish.”

  
“And I too, but that is not how it is to be and we must now brave the consequences, the choice is yours what you do with your title, you need not follow your father’s steps, if it pleases you Edward make peace with King Henry, you need not be at war with Lancaster, you need not fight your father’s ambitions to be king. But you will, without choice be Duke of York, no use will come to you in denying it, no good to your wife also..”

  
“Leave us William.” It was Margaret who spoke, taking Edward from his servant’s arms and holding him to her breast she sighed. “My lord, you surely will not let your father die in vain. Surely?”

  
“Margaret, what would you have me do? I cannot win a war-“

  
“King Henry, bless his soul, is a fool, a mad man and certainly not fit to rule this country, Queen Margaret exceeds herself you know that, her court is run by traitors and thugs, you I know will not let that happen.” She heard his sigh, saw his eyes glance up toward her, curious she knew he would be for why she, a Lancastrian heiress would be so set on a Yorkist rule. She stroked his cheek gently and for the first time since their wedding day their lips met. “Edward, my husband, I want you to be happy, it’s all that could please me, your safety and happiness, you cannot be safe and happy whilst king Henry is on the throne of England.”


	8. A Change in the Weather

**March 1461**

  
Margaret found herself cooped away in the Tower, her husband’s orders, she knelt before the altar in the chapel of St John, her rosary in her hand, her eyes closed tight. Since Edward had taken the crown from poor Henry’s head things had changed between them. The discreet life she had been allowed was no more, always surrounded by servants, ladies, Edward had even informed his mother of his expectations, that his wife should be treated with the utmost respect even from the dowager duchess of York. Yet this had not been her intention.

  
Her mind never ceased to wander to her son, little Henry, a small child of five years old and away from her side, she would not be allowed to raise him. Edward had told her as she pleaded that it could not be so, for he could not accept his step son, a Lancastrian child, to be so close to the throne, not until they had children. That she knew would mean sleeping in his bed, something she had so far avoided, even as he had almost begged before he went to battle to be allowed to share even a moments intimacy with her. She had refused. No matter what, he repulsed her. She had tried to love him, tried to care for him yet she could not. Of course she understood the marriage, his interests were hers but only for so long. When it came to a toss up between being a wife and being a mother, the latter would always be her priority.

  
Of course, Henry was cared for by fine people, well treated and fed and treated a prince in his own right, Edward had seen to that, yet for all his pleasantness, his gentleness and his smiles, Edward had failed to draw her closer to the House of York, by all levels. She wanted nothing more to do with them and his family, she was to them an outsider, she would never be accepted as a daughter of York.

  
She prayed to God for her husband’s safe return, for his health and happiness, wealth and prosperity, she had offered him a blessing before he left, as she was expected and all had seemed well between them, she had played the loyal queen to her all powerful warrior king. Yet some part of her prayed for his demise, for the news to come that he had died in battle and that King Henry was once again on the throne of England. Of course, that imboseal could not rule England, his wife would be sure of that, but then she would be in good standing, for she alone ahd the Lancastrian heir, even if he was cared for by the Yorks. Sure, Margaret of Anjou had her brat, but no man nor woman in the country was convinced of his paternity, nor would they be with any ease, she knew then that upon Henry’s death she could bring her son to noble attention and he could, with luck, be placed on the throne of England.

  
Yet for that to happen, Edward would have to die, she would have to pray before God that he should take away the same man she had sworn loyalty to in York’s cathedral, she would have to betray her husband, her belief, and commit a mortal sin in praying that her king and keeper should die in battle today.  
Some things she knew, though risky, were always worth the price.

 

_**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----** _

**Towton.**

  
Take form!” The Earl of Warwick was before his men, mounted on his horse towering above the common men which made his regiment. Each man was dressed in his colours, the bear badge upon their breast, new boots and swords, bows and arrows, each man looked nervous yet excited. He had never seen a bunch of men look so conflicting in their emotions. The weather did not help of course, it was a curse to fight in this much snow. They had been slowed in their pursuit and Edward, their king, was still further behind, bringing up forces under his command, William Hastings also. Some of the men had whispered the cause was lost, and Warwick had to confess silently in his head, if the snow was to once again settle in before the king arrived, the cause was truly lost.

  
The Lancastrian army had formed he’d seen, banners and standards in the distant, the faint sound of men’s calls, of lines forming. They would likely make the first move if Edward did not soon arrive. His mind skipped back to St Albans, how that had been a slaughter house, how York blood had been shed as though it were water, a river of red running down the hills, coating grass and rocks, he had fled with several men and left the rest for slaughter, to Wakefield too he had heard, the Yorkshire ground may once again be painted red by their ambitions.

  
Several men began to fall out of line he noticed, brought quickly back by a warning glance and the sound of horse hooves beating, the sound of trumpets and drums and the kicking of snow as Warwick heard movement over the mount of the hill. William Hastings lead the men, more men than Warwick had been able to muster, behind him were 5000 men dwarfed in Hastings success. Sir William pulled his horse to a stop by Warwick and nodded him, sweeping him a horse back bow. “My Lord, I see your men have formed-“

  
“Where is his grace the king?”

  
“Falling behind but will be with us presently.”

  
“How many men do they have?”

  
“Tifftoff they say has ten thousand, we’re scarcely above that number.”

  
“Edward, how many does he have?”

  
“Knowing Ned as I do? Fifty doxies and a hundred men.”

  
“Lord help us.” Warwick crossed himself as the first batches of snow began to fall from the sky, to get the men to march as they would need to, the archers to fire their arrows would be hard in this weather, harder still if their king, their figurehead was not there soon but then they heard the addressing of men atop the hill, looked to see a horse, no rider on its back, no men visible, but the familiar voice was loud.

  
“You will not desert, for those who do will face my sword, those who stay will be rewarded, I assure you, upon our victory you shall be rewarded.” A slow progression was made down the hill toward them. “Take no prisoners.” The words were addressed to Warwick and Hastings with a smile, before without warning Edward unsheathed his sword and held it in his hand, he looked toward his generals, each nodded and the king, in full armour, on foot shouted the order and the men, at a run, set off toward the Lancastrian army, no mercy accompanying their run.


	9. A Darkened Day

Anne Neville was a young girl of only six, she had met the king of England only once or twice, all times when he was not a king and merely an earl. He was a king man she knew, loving toward children and eager to please; the last time she had seen him he had played part in her acting and watched as she played with her doll and then he took her and dolly for a ride on his pony, leading it with one hand. Now she would meet him again. Her mother, the lady Anne Beacheup had told her so, told her she must be on her best behaviour and not show any of the women – her mother and sister – up when the king arrived.

So obedient a child as Anne was, she stood before the window of her bed chamber, dressed in a gown of fine satin, a satin of green and looked out through the thick glass over the bailey, her hands resting on the stone sill. She was silent and still until the doors behind her opened making her jump and turn her head quickly, glancing at her older sister. Isabel Neville was three years Anne's senior and ever acting the part, followed by Richard Plantagenet – the kings brother – the girl looked too confident as she strode over to her sister lifting the girls head and checking her teeth. “Mother is worried you will mess this up, she is tempted not to let you greet our lord and good father, not to let you see his royal highness the king.”

“Edward would-” The slap made Anne stop her words, her tiny hand touching her hot red cheek, tears forming in her green eyes. She looked to the floor, wanted so desperately to stamp her foot and scream, cry out. She could not, for that would make her look like a child and there was only one thing she feared more than looking like a child before Richard Plantagenet; looking like a child before Isabel Neville.

The torment would be endless.

Their attentions were turned by the sound of horses on the stones of the bailey, men shouted and called, firm woahs were said and the horses neighed and whinnied as their masters pulled them to a halt. Their mother called and two ladies, servants dressed in grey uniforms, came to collect the girls and walk them down the stairs to greet their father and the king – George Plantagenet too, as the men returned to Middleham from the battle at Towton. The women had heard the battle had been hard won, a long and bloody fight in deep Yorkshire snow, conditions in which many men had proved less than happy to fight, yet Edward had been the strong and bold man Isabel and Anne knew from their birth; the man who had forced no one yet motivated all with brillitant tactics and stunning good looks.

The Yorks had won, to the surprise of few unloyal beings, yet even Anne knew they had made Middleham from the battle field in record time, less than a day had passed since the men had packed up at Towton, they usually would have stopped on their way, rested, they had not. It brought confusion to the youngest and least educated members of the household of Middleham Castle. “Husband.”

The Earl of Warwick pushed away his wife as she approached, she bowed her head and curtsied loyally as her husband passed. “Wife are the guest chambers made?”

“Yes husband.”

“Doctor!”

The women watched in stunned silence as the earl moved quickly toward the litter which had since stopped, opened the door and helped a doctor wearing blood stained robes from the carriage. “I will need stitches countess, stitches, water, wine if you have it.”

The countess nodded and curtsied again, never asking why a physician had accompanied the men on their way home, why he had been at battle at all, let alone why he was dictating her household and telling her the resources he – a man of ordinary birth – would require. She did not mention how disgraceful this act seemed, how offended she was, she simply nodded to the servant in a horrified moment when carefully the doctor helped a tall man from the carriage, half carrying him with the help of her husband and that common squire William Hastings. Her heart had almost stopped when the man, covered in blood and crying, had looked up and she had seen the face she knew so well. She rushed to her kings side nudging her daughters to the side. “Your grace, is there anything you-”

The king cried out, almost collapsing to the floor. The physician held him, trying hard to increase the speed at which they walked. “Yes, Lady Anne he needs you gone! He needs a bed and rest and that girl!” His attentions looked toward little Anne Neville. “She has small hands, steady hands, she can help when we stitch him. Come girl hurry.”

No reluctance was shown to let the girl go, Anne Neville followed the king up into the castle, sickened by the blood, shocked and frightened as the men holding him up stripped him and washed him before laying him upon the huge bed covered from waist to foot by velvet quilts. Anne was summoned by the doctor, sat upon the bed, a needle forced into her hand. “Stitch child!” he pointed toward the gash at the kings abdomen “there you see? Quickly now.”

Doctor Pier saw little chance for the English King, in France where the water was cleaner, the people more civilised and the resources vast he had seen men perish at wounds less than this, wounds and simple illnesses which the English saw as certain demise. Yet the Earl of Warwick had commissioned him with the task of keeping this most important man of England alive, he had anything he needed at his disposal; yet nothing he could do, nothing in his power could promise the young king life.

_**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----** _

“Your grace.” The girl curtsied nervously as she carried the wax sealed vellum to queen Margaret, nervous the woman would be furious for this young girl disturbing her prayers. The queen instead held out a silent hand a took the vellum, breaking the seal she read the words and handed it back crossing herself and getting to her feet.

“Fetch my riding cape, we are to go north.”

“Your grace.” The girl asked no questions, as she was paid to do, curtsied and left quickly, shouting orders for the queens cape. Several men of the court approached, bowed and asked if the queen was alright, each being dismissed as the one before. She walked confidently through the halls, accepting her riding coat and leaving the safety, the relative warmth of the Tower and into the bitter cold, mounting her horse and with several armed men at lead, she followed in the march north to her husbands bed side. With each step she prayed to the lord, remembering those scribbled words...

Y _our Grace,_  


_The king was wounded at battle, unfortunate news it is to bring you, blackened is my heart to be the one to tell thee of such sorrowful news. Edward lives though weakly and we prey daily for his health. I summon you north, on order of king Edward, to his bedside for his recovery. Come quick for time is not a thing we have._

_With love and loyalty to Kng and Queen._

  
_His Lord, E.Warwick._   


  
She would prey with her people, prey to their lord on high but she would never pray for the life of a Yorkist usurper, even if he was her husband.


	10. You Have my Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have so far, I have some ideas of how this should go but suggestions are welcome. What would you like to see? 
> 
> I dunno this wa a pretty random idea lol

**York, England**

The great hall was silent, deafly silent; people looked at one another but dared not speak as the Henry Beaufort, the Duke of Somerset knelt before the royals, his cousin Queen Margaret Beaufort and that bastard child Edward of York. Henry had been taught well by his father he thought, remembered the days at court when his father was gaoler for this ignorant brat and his younger later brother of Rutland. He felt his skin crawl as he knelt before this man, expected to offer his respect to this creature of York. He looked up as he heard his cousin whisper softly to her husband, rest her hand upon his and smile sweetly, the girl he knew was not a handsome one for her age, not handsome in looks nor prospects for she was a widowed mother when she married York and no one in the Yorkist court had been happy about that, not especially when Henry Tudor was in place to challenge his step father if a day of reckoning should come.

“My Lord Somerset, it is so my wife explains your circumstances well.” Edward’s voice was distinct, one Henry Beaufort knew would ring in his ears on the way to the scaffold, would be recognised in the crowd should he hear it, the accent and tone the same snobby, arrogant tone it had been when this man had been but a child. He held the same confidence, same sense of self-worth. He even smiled slightly as he looked over the man before him, a man his court deemed a traitor, a man his wife was pleading for. He sat back and slouched, as the duke was expecting for a youth of Edward’s years on the throne. “She does be I spare you, for your loyalties are truly with York, with her and that you were indeed mislead when you supported Lancaster. Yet it seems to me my lord that you did not seem repentant when we found you ‘ere at Towton and took you prisoner to York, we hold you not humbly but in splendour and you cannot for you pride nor your head seem to bring me truth in the words of my wife! Doth she lie or are you a fool?”

“Your Grace.” He cut off as Edward indicated for him to stand, he did, slowly and offered a bow, speaking half bowed half stood. “Her Grace Queen Margaret, Lord bless her soul speaks some truth in her words.”

“The truth be?”

“That I hold loyalty to your grace for your marriage, for she is my cousin my liege and so loyalty I do offer her.”

“And me?”

“Yes sire, for you by marriage are my cousin also.”

“Then you admit also mistake in your siding with Lancaster and so her statement be true?”

“Aye.”

“Then rise my lord.” Edward spoke with a smile, beaming on his face, despite all the angry eyes, the glare of the Earl of Wawick, the awe struck surprise of William Hastings, the complete and visible disapproval of Cecily Neville as all eyes settled on Henry Beaufort as he stepped forward and kissed both Edwards ring and Margaret’s hand bowing once more and stepping away.

“My liege, I thank you for this, you shall not regret it."


	11. Chapter 11

"Truly, you are devoid of your senses!"

"Come now Warwick, surely-"

"To pardon the Duke of Somerset? To pardon the man responsible for your fathers death! You are mad."

"I am not mad, try merciful! My lord Warwick what will now be gained by my executing each Lancastrian noble that comes to mind?"

"He is a Lancastrian traitor, even your queen, his cousin, agrees with me. Lord god help us if this is the way you intend to rule, to rule of England at end as at start!"

"Ah, good friend you need not to threat. I trust the Duke of Somerset not to betray us."

"As you would trust a pack of hungry wolves not to tear out the heart of an innocent babe." 

With those words, and heavy steps, the Earl of Warwick fled from view leaving the king and his queen alone. Margaret sighed as Edward rose, walking to the windows to look over the bailey, his eyes she knew following his Neville cousin of Warwick as the man left in his rage. Such things seemed to hurt Edward, that was somethign over these months she had learned, that Edward was not the heartless and apathetic creature she had once assumed him to be, such things as loyalty, friendship and kinship effected him more than he liked to show. He was a man who liked to keep his emotions a secret, who liked to display no sign of his inner most feelings lest it show his weakness and thus be his demise. It almost pained her to see him looking so longing as he looked through thw window pane. "He is right you know my lord."

He looked back in silent query. She smiled and stood, approaching him in silence. "He is right, the duke of Somerset, my cousin Henry Beaufort, he cannot be trusted to support York as you could not be trusted to swear to Lancaster. As I recall you once did, simply to break it once more."

"Is it to be this way? That I must put to death all those who may prove enemies simply because we cannot trust to give them a chance? Did almighty God not say 'Judge not lest ye be judged, love thy neighbour, forgive thine enemy?" He sighed and slumped onto a window seat, pale eyes following each person and none all at the same time. He could not focus upon a single face, could not name the name of a single man out there. "My cousin of Warwick seems most upset by my decision, yet it is not mine own to make? Is it not I who is king? Who wears the crown and not my Neville cousins. Only Johnny does not doubt me now! I wish i could even believe that, though he gives me no reason to assume his dislike for me, his emnity, I could not for sure say I have even his support in this."

"Because Edward, you likely do not, you do not have my own, your wife's support, I doubt you support your decision, but it is done now, be it liked ot despised it is done."

"It could be undone."

"Nay my lord it could not, you have pardoned his treason, unless you take to killing men for fun then he is free to roam and play his hand once more at trechory, as I am sure he will do."

"How sure?"

"I'd bet my Henry's life on it."


	12. Chapter 12

1465

William Hastings had run it over in his mind a hundred times and more, how could it possibly be? The Queen was with child? yet last he had heard from Edward they had not touched one another, not thought of such, the King had laughed of it, claimed he was merry enough to find pleasure in others bed for he need not spend a moment with her, else his joy would be murdered by her low spirit. _Ah Ned._ How young he was, still a boy at heart, no seeing man could deny it as Ned skipped the halls and greeted each man with a smile, each woman with a kiss, each child with a spin in his arms. No one escaped his charm, no one was anonymous to the young man. Yet he could not help but shudder at the thought of exactly what such news might bring to the man. For of course, he may not want her, but he was not one to discard his wife, his property, to someon - least of all he was not like to do it without consultation.   
  
Mayhap he had got this wrong, maybe things between the King and his Queen had changed, unbeknown to the courtiers at Westminster, mayhap they would wait the Godly time till they were sure babe would live the first months of pregnancy and then they would admit it to the crowds, else he hoped the remours were just that, that Queen Margaret would on no test prove unfaithful and indeed she was not with babe. Sometimes thought Hastings, the positions of the greatest power, the places of convienience hold the darkest responsibilities. As Lord Chamberlain of the realm, he knew well it would be his job to inform the King of all importance of which he may remain unaware. Importances such as the Queen's apparent pregnancy.   
  
With a gulp and a cough he knocked upon the heavy oak door, opening it at the perhaps too merry invite. Will saw soon the cause for the joy, a woman sat upon his bed, teasing him with a finger on her naked chest. He'd looked toward Will and smiled. "Ah Will!"  
  
"I hope I am not disturbing Your Grace too much?"  
  
"Could not be so, my head was at work as to where you could have been, my lady, meet Will Hastings, my best friend and chamberlain."  
  
"Pleasure Sir William."  
  
"Ah of course, and he be a knight."  
  
"You would forget yourself so much as to fail to introduce your delightful new harlot my leige?" Hastings smiled, his eyes falling to the floor with almos boyish embarrassment, daring even by his standards. he felt the tension leave his chest as the King laughed and approached, clapping a strong hand across his back, almost knocking the wind right from his chest, he inhaled sharply and smiled once more, this time as a masquered for his discomfort.   
  
"Ah Will, always knowing what to say, a linguist, I'm impressed."  
  
"Thank you sire."  
  
"Now, you came simply to meet my lady-" he paused looked to the young woman, she mouted a word and he smiled. "Yes, Lady Belle, or is there matters more important you wish my attention for?"  
  
"Regrettibly sire."  
  
A sigh and Edward took a seat upon a comfortable stool, one leg crossing over the other. "Come then, do not dally on this. I have not all night, let no the lady be left impatient."  
  
"Perhaps you should satisfy yourself and rid yourself of the wench before I discuss such matters?"  
  
"Nay, fool, I'll only want sleep, certainly not talk, not even with you Will."   
  
"Very well,i# it's about your Queen."   
  
"Must you blacken the hour?" He leaned forward offering the young woman a hand signal, she instantly gathered her gowns and curstied, doing her best to cover herself before retiring from the bed chamber into a desserted side chamber. "I sincerely hope this is of importance my lord, for if it is not, I may even have your head upon a spike for wasting my time when indeed it could be much more enjoyably spent."   
  
"Duly noted upon my entrance Ned."   
  
"Explain." He took an apple from a bowl which sat upon an oak table, he took a bite looking more at the teeth marks than having attention for the words his chamberlain offered. That was until the apple fell from his hand, hearing the words as though they were thunder on a hunt. "You surely jest Will? Be aware, this could likely be your demise, I love her not but to lie of the Queen such, even for you my dear friend, is treason."

  
"I surely do not."  
  
William Hastings jumped back, using a wall for support as he staggered with the shock. Never had he seen this boys temper so hot. Upon his service for Edward's father, the Duke had been known for his tempers, fits so violent he would have beaten a servant raw had he been unlucky enough to pass the look to warrant it, yet Ned always seemed so passive, as though he was incapable of such. When aggrevated however it was truly terrifying, he dared not to move as the King sent the table across the room, turning his eyes back upon the chamberlain, Hastings fought himself to hide the shudder which travelled from the top of his neck to the base of his spine. "You're sure, Jesus tell me you are not!"  
  
"Ned, I tell only what i hear."  
  
"If this is court gossipe Will I swear I'll have the poor bastards head!"  
  
"If it be true?"  
  
"Oh dont! You sound as though you will it so!"   
  
"It would solve your marriage problem, an unfaithful wife is far easier to rid yourself of."  
  
"Aye, true, cept you fool she'll make a cuckold of me! The very same my mother was accused of placing upon my father! Around my birth no less! Would that be as you willed it? Or do you not think?"   
  
Will gulped and caught the door as Edward stormed from the chamber, he followed as close tailed as he dared, apologising to the Duke of Clarence who was unfortunate enough to be caught in the Edward's way. The path remained mercifully clear toward the Queens chambers, Edward needed no announcment as he entered, forcefully enough to send pitchers of water to the floor. Margaret gasped as her ladies jumped back open mouthed, quickly falling into curtsies as Margaret stood. "My Lord."   
  
"Tell me woman, is it true?"  
  
"Ed-" She gasped as he cleared the space between them in two steps, his hand pressing hard agaisnt her belly, she cried out as his hand slipped up her bodice touching hard swelling flesh. His eyes quickly faded to an ice shade blue.   
  
"You harlot, you thought it your right to take a lover?" All fell silent as he released her. Eyes bearing into her effortlessly, she fell back into the chair. "Madam, I am done with you, I wish not to speak to you now, come this evening I shall be sure to deal with this, as for our immediate pennance? Think it fortunate I have not cast you onto the street as the Lancastrian bastard you are, you depend too strongly on Yorkist hospitality, which it seems I have been too obliging of. No, there are ways I am more likely to hurt you, your viewings of your son are forbidden not in my presence not alone am I clear? henry is to be isolated from contact with you-"  
  
"I cannot write?"   
  
"Do not interupt me madam! No you may not write. Now good day."  A swish of his cape and he was gone, William hastings quick on his tail, catching the bucket of water dropped by a blond woman in the Queen's colours, the young blond, an attractive woman had caused Edward's temper to sooth just a little, as he turned noted her with a nod and a sorely meant apology. The woman smiled and nodded, Hastings couldnt help but sneak a look to her plump breasts, swelling from the gown.  "My Lord! Hurry your pace!"   
  
"Good day madam." Will bowed as the lady retreated into the Queen's chambers. He smiled, perhaps he would be so fortunate as to see the blond beauty more often. 

_**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----** _   


All gathered in the great hall, Edward had by appearances forgotten his wife's infidelities. She sat beside him, hand upon his, they ate as always, the specticle of the banquet, each set of eyes upon them. George, Duke of Clarence had not failed to notice as his brother paid more than his rights view of the blond woman who srved them at their table. Even sharing a smile, a word or two, then a laugh. The relief came when Clarence noticed such an act had not fallen unnoticed to his cousin of Warwick, made more obvious as the Earl tensed. No one was unaware of Warwick's detest for Edward's current pleasures, the boy was too often from his maritial bed for anyone's likings, particularly those of his lord of Warwick. Of course, no one loyal to Yorkist court pretended to like the Lancastrian woman who sat as Edward's Queen, least of all the Duke of Clarence, but no one voiced complaint about the woman of royal blood - albeit tediously. For Edward to so publically fall from his pedistal before so many a important noble was shameful, an insult when the Duchess of York watched him with perhaps too much intensity. "Ma mere?"  
  
"George, silence yourself."  
  
"But-"  
  
"It is his right, no matter how I might dislike his taste. You of course have not heard of the Queen's infidelity, else mayahp you would be as loyal to your brother as your brother of Gloucester."   
  
George shuddered, raging at the mention of his younger brother. It was not uncommon for his mother of all people to make comparisons between himself and Dickon, a less likely couple to compare than any. They knowingly shared nothing but their mother womb, and that had been with reluctance, if George had knowledge enough at the time, he surely would have stopped Dickon's arrival. The ungrateful brat, sucking up to Ned at every opportunity, recieving love never offered to he, the heir to the throne.   
  
He stopped his thoughts as the music played, all cheered as the King rose to his feet offering the first dance not to his Queen, as was custom, but to the blond woman who had been serving them at their table. George scoffed his disgust  but said nothing, how like his brother such was, to lower himself to the level of a woman born whore. All watched in fascinated wonder as she spun, lifted into the air, giggling in strong arms, blushing, laughing. The mood was merry, not many moments passed before the first - and most influencial - nobles rose with their wives, the serving girls, any female of choice and joined the dance. Few listened intensely enough to ehar the King's words whispered gently into the woman's ear. "Join me in my chamber thie night good lady, I'd know you if I could."  
  
"But Your Grace, your married."  
  
"That seems a sham, not married for love nor choice, I'd take you for love and not lust me lady."  
  
"I thought thee a gentleman!"  
  
To that he laughed as he spun her, taking a feel of her breast. "Gentleman? Now who misinformed you of such good madam?"  
  
She giggled and smiled. "Alright, I shall join you, but think nothing of it sire, you'll not see above my stocking!"  
  
"We shall see, if you'll wager such as will I, 500 crowns for you should you should me off this night, a bedding for me should I succeed."  
  
"Your Grace!" She feined shock smiling, blushing scarlet as the Queen approached, taking her husbands hand, he offered a bow, turning to his wife.   
  
"Did I seem too happy for you?"  
  
"Ned-"  
  
"Do not." He held her arm more forcefully than she'd have liked, joined the group as each man stepped light circles around his female companion, kissing her cheek with no passion. She gulped as his foot slipped, supposedly accidently around her ankle, spinning her enough that she crashed to the floor with force enough to shock the room to jump back away from them. She cried out at the pain, helped only as the King feined his  surprise and lifted her to her feet, the blood on his hand confirmed her suspicion, tears filled her eyes. She would not forgive him, not his foolishness, not his hate. No matter what he claimed he had known of his doing, he had planned his steps so carefully, he had sent her down with knowledge it would surely murder the child. She cried more for the shame of her position, she had no choice but to rest her head into that very man's chest as he carried her from the hall, no one heard as he whispered the words into her ear, almost gleefully. "You'll learn now not to defy me woman, it is not a wise move lover."   
  
This she knew was the House of York she had brought up to hate. 


	13. Chapter 13

She walked slowly to the Kings chamber, Queen Margaret had been all too happy to send her away as she sobbed in her bed, stubbornly refusing all the attendance her maids offered. Embarrassed, blushing scarlet that she had dared accept the Kings offer she knocked, waited and greeted by William Hastings entered the chamber. Edward sat before the fire looking as somber as Elizabeth thought no King should. She dropped into a curtsy as he looked up, offered a sad smile. "Good lady I forgot your impending visit."   
  
"Forgive me then Your Grace I should leave."  
  
"Nay enough with your foolishness, you came now it would be most insulting of your King to forbid you audience would it not? Have you news of my Queen?"  
  
She tried not to scoff, as though he cared, as though the arrogant Yorkist brat cared how his wife faired. She resisted, offered a sad smile and sat as he invited her to, taking wine and sipping it as he handed her the cup. "Alas Your Grace, she takes to her bed with such violent pains unseen to me."  
  
"The baby, the doctor-"  
  
"He said the babe was a boy Your Grace, my apologies." She watched as he bit down on his hand, tears prominent in bright blue eyes. He looked away and took a gulp of wine.  
  
"No matter my lady, such happens."  
  
Yes, and always where a York is concerned. She simply nodded, smiling nervously as William Hastings bade his master good night and retired from the huge chamber in silence. She could not help but feel nervous, the Kings eyes were fixed upon her, he was scrutinising her merrily, judging her every flaw, assessing her qualities. Her mind moved quickly to their wager, she was only too happy to offer her reassurance: surely he would not want her should he know she was not a virgin? That she had born two sons to his own enemy. Perhaps something's for now were better left unsaid?  
  
She could not help but watch as he stood, tall and handsome, with all the beauty of youth, solid Plantagenet pride sat firmly on his shoulders. She gulped, flushing hot as she saw the almost intricate carving of toned muscles as he stretched, walking to the fire taking it's warmth, his hands close to the flames. It was but moments before she saw the sweat break on his brow, emphasised by the removal of his doublet, his game was obvious. She almost laughed, how sorry she felt for this vain boy, he knew he was handsome and only too well.  
  
"What is your name my lady?"  
  
"You ask a lady her name without an offer sir? Art thou a knight or a beggar?"  
  
"If I were to say beggar, would it make me more like to know your name?"  
  
"I'd not believe you."  
  
"Then I claim knighthood and ask ye noble lady to offer her name unto me for I would serve you well and offer you anything for just your name."  She giggled, watched as he knelt before her, taking her hand. "Such a beautiful woman, such a womanly woman, I long to touch you."  
  
"But a moment ago you wanted only my name sir, do not step to exceed yourself."  
  
"I am your King madam you'd do well to remember where you are."  
  
"My King? It cannot be so good sir for my King should be with his wife as she ails in poor health for his child lost this eve."  
  
"Madam, I'd advise you curb your tongue, you know nothing of my wife and I."  
  
"Perhaps my knowledge would surprise you Your Grace?"  
  
"Is that so?"

"Yes, you claim not to love her, yet you sat so somber looking, so alone when I did arrive."  
  
"You know me well, mayhap I feel something for her."  
  
"Then why must you seperate yourself from her? Why must you venture in women's beds?"  
  
He thought for a moment, his eyes looking over this woman's beauty; beauty he had not seen before. It was as though she had been crafted by the Gods, fer flawless skin and silken hair, violet-grey eyes and gentle tone, soft pink lips and firm breasts. In most cases he would no answer, would accuse the woman of overstepping her mark, yet he could not. His desires strengthened, pounded in his chest, warmed in his stomach. "I daresay i am clueless as to why Lady Elizabeth, but I do and shall do."  
  
"It is your right and none shall dispute it." She smiled, watching as his eyes roamed over her. Hungry desire flamed in their centre, he wanted her, to touch her, taste her, to hold her close to him in his bed, she knew it so well. Her marriage, though short, had taught her to recognise the signs of a mans desires, to use his wanton need to gain her will. This game she would play was one she knew to be dangerous, she was playing it not only with a married man but with England's King. With a King her husband had been accused of betraying. She gulped and closed her eyes as he stepped forward, comforting her as he knelt before her, a gentle hand stroking her cheek, turning her face toward the fire light so he could better observe her beauty. She said nothing, letting the boy look over her letting his silent confidence absorb him and strengthen his desire until it broke him. She saw him gulp, heard his breath falter slightly, she looked at his chest, her eyes travelled south, the result burning her cheeks pink with hot blushes, made worse as his hand stroked her leg, gentle fingers on her lace covered cal, gently, slowly lifting her skirts. He was in no hurry. His finger looped around her garter, threatening to remove with it her stocking. She stopped him with a gentle kick as he began to take her skirt above her knee. "No Your Grace, you must not."  
  
"You claimed it my right!"  
  
"I did not mean to take a woman who wished not to have you upon her."  
  
"Do you not remember our dance? My words, you said I would not see above your stocking. I saw above and then some!"  
  
"You wagered sir and not I. The Queen was sure to interrupt before I accepted, which i assure you i would have declined."  
  
"My Lady, I am affraid it is not so, you owe me a debt I recall anyway."  
  
"Your Grace?" Genuine confuion struck her hard, crippling her enough for her reactions to fail her as he delicately pulled the stocking from her leg kising her foot before he spoke again.  
  
"For your cruel treatment when I served you under the order of Edmund Beaufort."  
  
"The old |Duke of Somerset. You surely cannot mean to hold your childhood against me?" She gasped as his hand slipped further up her leg, touching warm thigh, he'd shifted his eight.  
  
"You think i hold it agaisnt you? Nay madam, you should be begging to enter my bed."  
  
"You think much of yourself." She giggled. "It would be admirable if not so common in you Yorks, to think no woman can resist you sir is a mistake, I surely can and certainly will now kindly remove your hand from me and I shall have my leave."  
  
"You shant, I will not willingly have you break my heart."  
  
"If that is so then i am sorry, but I fear it is not your heart I break rather your pride. But either way it shall then be so, your precious pride is doomed for you must unahnd me and let me leave or take me by force and against my will."  
  
With reluctance he moved away, watching in despair as she pulled the lace over her legs, standing and turning away from him, she offered a curtsy before taking her leave of his presence. He was hardly surpised when once again Will Hastings joined him, offering a hand from the floor. "She left rather soon than i had expected Ned. Is all okay?"  
  
"As well as ever. I fear she will simply be more of a challenge than most."  
  
"Indeed sire, what of the Queen?"  
  
"Margaret? Yes, fetch me a quill and some parchment."  
  
"Of course." Hastings bowed smiling as Edward shuddered for the formality of it, the chamberlain retreated to follow the King's command, dallying only to look over several serving girls as the giggled in their group as they walked past him, offered smiles. Surely the King's need for letter writing could wait?  


_**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----** _

She had no time to waste in this manner. She needed to secure herself; for she was sure the York brat would most likely cast her aside if he could, and soon. If he did so, she would be ruined. She was seen as a traitor to her Lancastrian peers, she could not afford to lose York as well. There must be something she could do…

Margaret made her mind. It was risky and she might fail, but she owed Henry a try. She called one of her ladies and ordered for someone to be summoned to her immediately; she had the most important matter to discuss. She ordered for someone to adjust her pillows and said a silent prayer. God would help her through it. She knew she was doing his work.

The doors to her bedchambers were open as Cecily Neville, the Duchess of York, walked in. She held her head high whilst moving towards Margaret’s bed. 

The dowager duchess of York refused to curtsy. "Duchess Cecily how wonderful." The queen managed to sound disgusted by the woman's presence, even when e had called he woman there herself. 

"Your grace, to what do I owe this pleasure?" No matter her feelings, her lack of formal etiquette for a Lancastrian queen, Cecily Neville would not be rude, even if her tone was heavy with sarcasm. 

"Take a seat lady mother-"

"Quite thankfully madam I am not your mother. The Lord alone knows what I would if you were my daughter. I'd be disgraced. I canny believe thy you are married to my son, my golden boy Edward." 

"It is about yorks golden boy I call you here."

"Save your complaints, I will take no part in your treason." 

"My treason? You speak of my treason, yet appear blind to his murder."

"Murder?" The duchess sat suddenly, her hand blindly feeling for the arms of the great chair staring at the woman in the bed with pale faced horror. The women smiled to one another, each silently offering their true feelings. "What do you mean his murder?"

"My baby, you think my baby died of it's own accord? Then my lady you are more the fool than I thought your son, dear Edward-"

"Your king and husband madam."

"The King, he had hand to play in it. I did not fall in dancing-"

"Oh dear, Margaret." The duchess rose, approached and sat upon the bed taking the girl in her arms. Margaret Beaufort was a secretly pretty girl, perhaps it was not obvious, not the York or Plantagenet beauty which seemed obvious. She was small but pretty, today she looked I'll, weak and pale. "This happens, I have lost so many a child."

"You act as though it was an accident." 

"I think you are confused, my son would not harm the baby, his heir-"

"It was a boy?"

"He was indeed, but it cannot be helped. I lost four boys in the cradles, five all together and nearly lost Edward in his toddling years. It is painful-"

"Tell me madam, did your husband trip you in your dancing?" Margaret gasped in shock and held back a sob as Cecily wrapped her hand around her cheek with a crack. 

"You foolish girl, ignorant girl! My son is no murderer! Why would he kill his own son? You Lancastrian fool! How dare you, how dare you. My son. My son would not do this!" 

"Lady Cecily-"

"Do not. You selfish girl, you wanton whore you claim the child was not Edwards I assume then you know well who the father is, perhaps you would tell me who you offered yourself to? I do not wish to know. You are no queen but a whore a Lancastrian whore my son must be blind to love you as he does you, we have offered you a home and you accuse him of murder? If he killed the babe which I do not believe he did, it was for your foolishness and his own position. But you madam are a fool and you accuse my son of murder for it is you who cannot accept that you are the one to murder the babe, not he." 

The duchess stood storming from the rooms, pausing outside letting tears flood from her eyes. She had the ought he had imagined her sons foot behind Margaret's. He had killed that poor baby, her son had killed the son he should have had. Did he know something she did not? 

How could it possibly be that the House of York had come to this? 

As the duchess fell to her knees she let the sobs break and the tears escape he eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

"I'm just not sure it's right." George Plantagenet sighed as he lay next to the Queen, her hand played gently at his chest drawing little circles in the golden curls. 

"But my love he killed our baby." She gently kissed the base of his neck, almost satisfied as he sighed in pleasure and nodded. He at least had believed every word she had told him if Edwards brutality. "You'll not let him get away with that, will you?"

A happy sigh as her hand travelled over his belly suggested not. This had been surprisingly easy, capturing George the Duke of Clarence, Edwards brother and ed most powerful ally so thoroughly. Of course, she had fallen to things she had not wanted to, the lost babe had at first been an in convenience she had desperately needed to resolve, of course Edward had brought her such resolve and in the most blessed way; she could use what he did to turn those who loved him against him. 

She had never seen George as furious as when she had told him of his brothers actions, the obscenities had been endless. Blasphemous oafs and curses damning the King to hell for his murder. She had for once agreed with this otherwise foul man, she did not like the Duke of Clarence, although his ease of persuasion made him preferable to his steadfast brother of Gloucester. She had tried with Richard only to be mercilessly rejected for her efforts, thrown aside and called a liar, a harlot. George had been her saviour, her last chance of power in a Yorkist court, strangely she seemed to be his. 

The plan had been forming for months, Edmund Beaufort, the Queen's cousin and the latest Duke of Somerset had more than enough reason to detest King Edward, usurper to the throne of England, mistreater of a woman who was holy and ordained and of course, the bastard of a peasant. A common French bastard sat upon the throne and there was nothing, nothing anyone had done about it. The man was insufferable, so young and full of energy that people loved him, soft spoken and attentive and all too trusting of course. Though Edmund Beaufort had learned two years back from his brother just how to run the Kings patience short. 

This plot had been perfect until of course the Duke of Clarence had been brought into this, so readily did he come to the it could be nothing but a worry. Richard of Gloucester had been a dead end hope, sticking by the Kings side, sitting on his lap where possible. Somerset smiled, yes Gloucester was Yorks lap dog, there was no cute to that, yet it was respectable all the same; no one could question where the youths loyalties lay. Clarence on the other hand had potential to be their greatest prize or their demise. He could not help but feel the sickening at the pit of his stomach as he watched his sweet cousin lower herself to this man, to feed his pleasures for her way. As Queen of England surely such loyalty was deserved to her? 

He looked up as the final member of the party stalked in. "Lord Rivers, so glad we are you join us."

Baron Rivers was one Somerset had disliked from the start, more over the years. A commoner and his father of course had not hesitated to hammer home just what that meant. But the man had his uses, he was of course a declared traitor, no one was now naive to the fact that he had signed his own death warrant when the King was just an right year old Earl. 

Of course it should not surprise, in this plot to bring the French bastard from the throne and to his coffin none were of his friends, most were declared traitors with one price or another above their heads, to be found here was certain death, it would foil their plan and see Henry Tudor, the Queens sweet son, without a head for his unknowing part in this plot. He would one day be King in Edwards place.

That was where George came in, for a wife to kill her husband was a mortal sin and it would see her hastened delivery to hell with a death warrant, Henry too would lose it all when Margaret fell. No other man but Clarence who was knowing of the plot would gain access to the King, not long enough to cease his heart from it's beating. This pitiful sight had to be endured, as the smile came across George's face at Rivers mention of poison, Somerset doubtless knew that the boys ambition for power would surely set them right, it may even be a shame to rid the boy of his life along with his brothers. Nothing would be allowed to bar Henry's smooth trajectory to England's throne. 

 

 

King Edward sat looking over the fields, the cold stone from the window seat freezing his limbs. He cared little, his thoughts were plagued by what he had done. Of course he had been furious at Margaret for her faithlessness, if only she had told him then maybe then would have come to something, but she had not and it had ended in murder. He shuddered at the thought of the baby, dead at his hand, an innocent life lost because of him. He wiped the tear from his eye as Will's voice brought him back to the now. "Huh?"

"Were you listening?"

"Forgive me Will, I was distracted."

"I noticed Ned, you need to push it aside, it is done. No help can come of your thoughts lingering on the deed, regret it though you may it is irreversible. Do you know you caused the babe to die?"

"I've never been more sure of anything."

"Except it would seem your devotion to the girl who denies you her bed."

Edward smiles, Hastings spoke of the Woodville woman, Lady Elizabeth, the woman who so willingly, so easily eluded him. She avoided his bed where others could not, all she claimed was for her dignity. "The girl is... splendid, luscious."

Will laughed and leaned back watching as Edward stood, taking sips of the wine George had earlier brought to him. "Cept Your Grace you would not know, she evades you remember?"

"You ass! Need you remind me of such? I'd give anything to touch her. To have her." He broke off, drank more wine and sighed as Hastings spoke. 

"It seems you've already given much for your lust for this woman, what makes her so different Ned? That you can't just let her go?"

"You called it lust?"

"Aye."

"Then you're a fool sir."

"You cannot surely suggest you love the girl?" His laugh stopped as the King turned back, severity upon his face, a longing like he had never seen sat there in this young mans eyes, never had Will Hastings been so sure of his masters love struck state. 

"Since the moment I laid eyes on her Will, I didn't know what it was at first-"

"When she came to court this Christ mass?" 

"Rather when I came to court with Edmund."

"Ah Ned, come here lad, come." Hastings held out a hand, drew the King close, the best he could offer to a paternal comfort of which this dear child was deprived . To mention Edmund brought tears to his eyes, to think of such times when the brothers had depended on each other simply to pull by. He felt Edwards hand upon his as it rested upon his shoulder.

"What am I to do Will?" 

"Tell her of it, what else is for it?"

"She'll want some impossible thing, I can't offer her what I'd like until the enullment is final." 

"And I wish you luck with his holiness Ned for he will not like your suggestion."

"Perhaps not, but I am sure his holiness will see reason soon enough."

Will smiled as the King stood and offered a hand gesture as indicate they should pick up on the more important matters of state where they had left off. "His Lord of Warwick would have new titles of-"

"It's done." 

Will hesitated and looked up, offering a nod before using Edwards ring to seal the document. "Very well, your brother of Gloucester would request leave from Middleham to visit your lady mother at her birthday this May."

"Granted of course, why Dickon needs to ask is beyond me."

"Lord Rivers has once again applied for their daughters lands-"

"Elizabeth? What of her lands?"

"Yes she lost them when her husband, Sir John Grey was killed at Towton."

"She wants them back?"

"Yes."

"How very convenient."

"You cannot- Ned?" Will watched, standing quickly and racing to Edwards side as he gripped his stomach and inhale sharply.

"Jesus, it's like fire in my stomach."

"You're sweating but you're cold, let's get you to bed. Peter! Fetch for the physician. Come now Your Grace you need to rest."

"Now is not-" Will felt panic as the King vomited before he lost consciousness in his arms. The doctor was quick to join them and help Hastings lift Edward into bed.

Several clueless hours past before the King awoke in confusion, Cecily Neville sat beside him stroking his hair. "Mother?" 

"Oh my sweeting." She kissed his head, flinging her arms around him lifting him from the mattress. "The doctor knew not what was wrong with you, he feels a passing sickness. Hopes you'll be fine, as do we all, you had us all praying." 

Will smiled as he approached carrying a tray laidened heavy with bread, cheese and cold meats. "You'll need your strength for this evening Ned."

"Why so? I feel I have none."

"Well the Lady Elizabeth heard you were of poor health, she begged audience with you this evening."

"When he is so abandoned of his defences? Tell this madam no it shall not be." 

"Mother, yes Will a thousand times tell her yes." 

"Edward! You are not-"

"Oh lady mother stop your worrying I am fine, a passing sickness remember?" 

"All the same sire I'd surely suggest you do not exert yourself tonight."

Cecily looked between her son and his chamberlain, covered her ears and refused to hear their words, of course she was not ignorant to her sons affairs, nor disapproving since the Queen seemed affection less of him. Yet to seek out women such as Elizabeth Grey? What had it come to? 

 

Evening fell, she arrived at the kings chambers and silently opened the door. Greeted by Hastings who informed her the king was sleeping. She'd walked past into his chamber and sat beside him, watching as sweat glistened on his forehead, heard as his breaths laboured watched as discomfort came and went from his brow. "Lord Hastings?" 

"Madam?"

"What are his ailments?"

"He complains of pains, burning in his stomach, he drinks and they get worse, he complains of fatigue, nausea, and his heart races." 

"You say it worsens when he drinks?"

"Yes."

"What does he drink?"

"Wine madam."

"Be so kind as to pass me the flagon, does anyone else drink this?"

"No, his grace drinks his own weight in wine more often than he falls ill or drunk to it."

She smiled and smelled the wine, needing not to taste a single drop to know. "Who brings this to him my lord?" 

"His duke of Clarence."

"It is poisoned you are aware?" 

"No, how know you." 

"There's a scent of almonds where there should be none, he is to drink no more and drink wine only you fetch him, he should soon recover." She stood, pouring the wine out of the window looking at the King as he slept. How she disliked him, yet how she remembered those days in his childhood, his days in The Tower when all but his strength had broken and now he slept like a helpless child. She tucked his arm under the coverlets resting a gentle hand on his temple as he began to stir. "If you mind not my lord Hastings, I'll sit by him until he wakes, if you'd be so kind to fetch me oranges and grapes for when he wakes, I'd appreciate such a gesture."

"As I am sure will he my lady." He bowed slowly an retreated smiling to himself as he thought of Ned's victory.


	15. Chapter 15

One segment had quickly become the whole orange, Elizabeth Woodville smiled as she wiped the juice gently from his mouth, watching as he chewed gently in his half conscious state. Several times Lord Hastings had emerged to check upon the king and ensure Edward was still safely breathing in his sleep. Finally Edward had opened his eyes, gently taking her hand as she held the silk handkerchief to his lips, gently he twisted her hand, kissing her fingers, she could not help but blush desperately trying to hide the widest of smiles. All to no avail as he smiled and whispered. "Never did I think a day would come that I would wake to as beautiful lady as you in my bed lady Elizabeth."   
  
"Your Grace, it pleases me to see you awake finally." She giggled as he sat, pressing her hand to his lips once more, letting it linger before he lowered it to caress her fingers.  
  
"I'll thanks to you madam, the ice queen froze my heart, yet you melted it at though it were butter and now kind lady, I am yours."   
  
"Oh your grace, really?"  
  
"Edward, please."  
  
"I cannot your grace, your wife, queen-"  
  
"Lord I hope soon to be rid of her, mind what would it matter of her if you called me Edward or your grace, as you insist, what difference would it make to her? She hates your existence if you are beside me."  
  
"Then I should leave."  
  
"No! Who are you here to serve, the Queen or me?"  
  
"The Queen-"  
  
"Primarily you are my subject, then hers." Elizabeth smiled and sat back upon the bed, relaxing as his hand touched her shoulder, gentle fingers rubbing softly into the bone, slowly, lovingly slipping the damask off her skin, a gentle kiss and nothing more, he held her there with gentle circles and her own want. She wanted to scold herself so desperately as she heard her breath exhale in a pleasure filled sigh.  
  
"Edward." Her eyes closed briefly, starting open again as he slipped her shoulder back into her dress pulling away, her eyes followed him in curiosity, she watched in embarrassment as he climbed from the bed pulling on clothing. She blushed scarlet and looked away. Hearing him chuckle, he had got all he wanted from her, until he came before her, knelt and took her hand.  
  
"My lady you blush but I fear it is nothing you have not seen before."  
  
"It is not for my eyes to see your grace so vulnerable."  
  
To that he barked laughter and smiled. "You see me sleeping in illness and call my nudity vulnerability? Alas I am at my weakest clothed." He winked and kissed her hand once more moving quickly away continuing to dress, readying himself for that evenings banquet, one he would be sure to shock the court by his presence at. "Will!" Elizabeth stood and in moments England's Lord Chamberlain entered, approaching Edward and smoothly bowing. "See this lady dressed in fine attire, the finest."   
  
"Of course your grace."  
  
"But why-"  
  
"Why indeed madam,for I wish to take you to dine with me, my thanks for your loyalty, what else?"  
  
  
Of course She had her doubts, yet she could not help showing the joy that flooded her face so merrily red with blushes.  
  
  


**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**

 

The banquet hall was merry, two thrones sat at the top table, both were occupied. Upon one sat Queen Margaret, next to her was George Plantagenet, the Duke of Clarence. The trumpeter played and music filled everyone's ears, all until the room fell silent and the king strolled in unannounced, eyes bearing upon George who quickly turned red and stood offering a bow, crippling himself to duck from view as the duchess of York allowed her eyes to fall upon him in disapproval as King Edward took his place upon his throne, the young lady beside him. 

 

**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**

  
  
  
Anne Neville giggled, leaning her head into Richards doublet as they sat upon the kings saddle. She had not admitted it, had not dared to tell him that she, Anne Neville, liked he the Duke of Gloucester. She didn't like him like those other girls at the kings court, she did not like him for his title. No, she did not care if he was Richard Duke of Gloucester or Richard the bakers son. She wanted Richard Plantagenet for all he was, the dark haired, dark eyed hero he always had been. It had always been so, she had loved him since that moment he had become her father's ward, when he had been just Richard.   
  
Of course he had never really been just Richard, it had always been Dickon, she could not see him as Richard, no matter how she had tried, she had always laughed when he had been called Richard. Of course, they had both laughed. Now she smiled, hiding her face in the purple velvet, he had such a kind laugh, so alive and young, so happy, contagious. Even now she could feel his warmth and tenderness as she lent against him, his arm wrapped gently around her, not like other men might mind, no not Dickon, he would never touch her like other men might, like she had heard the king himself touched many women. The Duke of Gloucester was a gentleman, his hand would not wander, no it would not. It would all be done properly, as a knights etiquette did state.   
  
Her head shot up as Richard tensed, hearing his brothers words. "She's smitten with you Dickon."  
  
"Shut up Ned!" Richard shouted down to his brother, holding Anne close, ensuring her balance as she looked to the king dressed in blue hoes and white shirt, without a doublet breaking her father's rule a hundred times, how she wished to tell him he would surely be scolded by her father the earl of Warwick when he returned, then of course she reminded herself that he was king of England and above her father's command. Yes, Edward was king of England and brother to the Duke of Gloucester. It was had to see him so though, even with the velvet cap upon his head, the silk shirt, riding boots of calf leather she could not see the youth dressed finely but coated in mud as King of England no matter how much she tried.   
  
Yet harder still she found it to believe that this blond giant was the Duke of Gloucester s brother.   
  
How clever Dickon was, she smiled again resting her head against his shoulder, giggling as he stroked her hair gently, how clever he was to have arranged this day, having persuaded his brother to take them out on his gelding with he himself leading them, no stable boy. Edward had even offered them his cloak when it had begun to rain an she began to shiver, of course, the Duke of Gloucester had given it to her. How charming he was, young Dickon. Even now he looked like a gentleman, after rain in the woods, mud soaked hikes and insults from his brother, he sat upon the horse so confident he looked a grown man.   
  
Richard jumped from the horse refusing his brothers help and receiving a clip around the head for it, taking it in his stride before helping Anne from the great animals back, gently placing her upon the floor. It was not but a moment before Edward lifted her into a cradling hold carrying her across the courtyard. She kicked him in her confusion only smiling when he finally put her down upon a ledge, she watched as he shouted "oh ye good knight that pass there, I am a villain and I hold her the most fair princess, lady Anne, she is for your taking should you prove thyself worthy."  
  
She giggled as Richard drew his sword and shouted in return. "Then come ye foul villain, oh spawn of Satan and fight me, if you win you may keep her, else unhand her knave lest you feel my wrath."  
  
"No wrath from thy hand is too testing lad!"  
  
"Let us see to it then."   
  
Edward too drew his sword approaching Richard letting the young duke take the first strike, Anne cringed as metal brushed metal, five minutes, ten minutes before Cecily Neville appeared, almost crying out as the tip of Richards blade sliced Edwards shirt, grazing his arm, all gasped as Richard made a show about running the sword through the villain, most unknown to the onlookers that the king held the blade under his arm, making show of stumbling to the floor. "I mistook thee lad, stronger art thou than thought I you could be, I beg it be with my dying breath, forgive me my Lord for I knew it not, if knowledge had served me better I'd never have challenged the Duke of Gloucester." Finally the king fell to tThe floor. Richard landed a shoe into his leg, ensuring his victory. He ran quickly up the stairs laying his sword upon the floor before kneeling into a sweeping bow. "Madam, I offer you my hand and hope you would accept a humble knight, I have slayed thy enemy and saved thee, with that I hope to have won your heart."   
  
Blushing red Anne giggled and jumped into his arms from the ledge, again to a cheering crowd, more so as Edward sat up, a smile upon his face. All until Cecily hurried over after her applause finished. "Now for gods sakes to your feet Edward."  
  
"But ma mere."  
  
"No, is a kings time spent in mummery? You're a state, get inside I'll have your bath ready."   
  
Unable to resist the temptation of his brothers humiliation, Richard offered Edward and smile and a wink. Edward simply laughed and rubbed his arm as he walked inside smiling, his point proven so publicly. This was the true power of kingship. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----

"An annulment? You applied for an annulment?" Margaret felt her heart trying to break from her chest, heard the blood pump around her body, knew of the re hot anger which would see her plant a knife in the usurpers gut.   
  
"I was granted it."  
  
"On what grounds?" She wanted to wipe the smile from the Yorkist brats face. She was furious, he had dared to try for an annulment, now the boy was gloating, and old king Henry's work was undone as though he had never tried. Nothing had come of this marriage . Except a grown resentment for the shameless bastard of York.   
  
"You're a disobedient wife madam, and your infidelities serve purpose against you, you are no fit wife, less fit a queen." Edward sighed and took a sip of wine "I suppose his holiness agreed with me."   
  
"You may turn a mortal man against me sir, but god is on my side and the side of Lancaster, god will protect me as his humble and faithful servant-"  
  
"Oh yes, over an anointed king?"   
  
"You sir are no king, simply a crowned traitor"  
  
"That is so?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then madam, you are the queen of treachery and god shall shun you as he you claim he has shunned me, your visions of god are then not holy and instead delusions. Perhaps I should burn you for witchcraft and have it done with." He leaned forward kissing her hand in a polite gesture before standing and whispering in her ear. "Be careful madam, you have my protection, my care, but no longer the protection of a crown upon your head. What would you do if I lost mine?" He walked away quickly, as she heard the door close the tears escaped her eyes. To the Lancastrians now she would be a traitor and he court would soon hear of her so called affair with the duke of Clarence. 

 

\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----

  
  
"Will, how do I look?"  
  
"Stunning your grace. As ever."   
  
"Ah Hastings you charm me so and why?"  
  
"It is my job sir."  
  
"Nay, your job is to protect me, to say anything less than the truth is to throw me to the wolves William."  
  
"You look stunning sure I speak true."   
  
"The blue is not too dark? I feel red suits my skin tone better. Besides this seems like mourning clothes."  
  
"You are not in morning for your annulment? The child?"  
  
"Does it seem I am Will?"  
  
"No sire, but perhaps you should appear it, for some weeks perhaps."   
  
"I suppose you're right. Then fetch me my cloak."  
  
"Which colour, red, purple, black, gold, silver-"  
  
"Good god man, is silver allowed in mourning?"  
  
"Black then sire."  
  
"And now you use your sense." Edward shivered as Hastings placed the cloak on his shoulders, struggling to slip the chain in it's lock. "Will, I love her."   
  
"Elizabeth?"  
  
"You fool, Margaret. I think I do, I felt my heart break when I knew the babe could not be mine. I swore that night I'd kill the man who was the father. Yet I cannot."  
  
"Edward, to lay with the queen of England is to commit treason."  
  
"It was George."  
  
"Your brother George? The Duke of Clarence?" Hastings almost fell over in his shock as the king stared silently out of the window. "God help us, how do you know?"  
  
"He told me. Tears in his eyes for his betrayal."   
  
William was about to speak once more when the commotion outside saw Edward curse under his breath and charge toward the door flinging it open. "In the name of God what do you think you are doing?"   
  
Richard of Gloucester shouted and charged forward. "Edward, I mean your grace." He dropped to his knees before his brother. "I bring bad news."   
  
"You bring no news in such a position Dickon, get up and come in, Will have my brother some wine." Edward helped his brother to his feet, resting a gentle hand on the boys forehead. "You look as though you have seen the slaughter of Towton."   
  
"Ned I must not dally in this."  
  
"Then speak lad." Richard took the wine Hastings handed him for manners over desire, drank it down for nerves not pleasure.  
  
"The lady Elizabeth has been arrested at Margaret's orders."   
  
"You surely jest?"  
  
"Nay, she has accused her of treason and witchcraft. Has claimed Elizabeth was the one to poison you."  
  
"She was the only one to know your grace." William Hastings interrupted.   
  
"Nay you fool." Edward sent a hand across Hastings cheek, the chamberlain took it without complaint, Richard settled into silence. "She was the only one to act, even you two failed me there, we know who poisoned me! Why would the woman who poisoned me lead herself to the stake for burning? She wouldn't."   
  
"If distresses me to tell you then that no one knows where she be held."  
  
"Surely the Tower?"   
  
"No Ned, that would take your authority." Richard looked away, cowering as though he feared Hastings fate Edward approached taking the boys hands. "Dickon we will find her. I thank you for this news, for your loyalty."  
  
Richard just nodded in his fear. Following Edward as he took the lead from the chamber his cloak flying out with the speed. Hastings turned to the mirror checking the wound left by the kings ring. Sometimes, just sometimes Edward of York, for all his positives, was an insufferable man.   
  
3 day had passed, then 5 and Edward had searched England to no avail. It showed.   
  
Hastings approached as for the third night the king refused his bed, half snoozing over parchment candles flickering silently. "Ned I insist you take your bed. No more harm will come to her over this night."   
  
The king jolted up, fully awake. "You think she's been harmed? Will you really think so?"  
  
He cursed under his breath and slipped hands under Edwards shoulders making him stand. "No, I don't but you must sleep, I insist you take your bed now."   
  
Edward sighed and allowed servants to take the clothes from him, it was a tiresome performance as they folded back the sheets. A task he knew he could do, he climbed into the bed and was covered by the luxury sheets before left to his sleep.   
  
William Hastings was awoken at midnight, a loud crash and several curses. He turned lighting the candle beside his bed with the metal blocks Edward had supplied. "Will, oi! Will!" The candle was barely lit when he felt the person fall onto his bed, another curse this time from both of them.   
  
"Richard? George?"  
  
"You fool."   
  
William Hastings used the candle to look over the figure. "My god get some clothes on!"   
  
He heard Edwards familiar chuckle. "I shall when you are awake."   
  
"Why are you up at this ungodly hour Edward?"  
  
"I've found her."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Elizabeth."  
  
"And you think to wake her at midnight and claim your reward for your chivalry?"  
  
"Get up."   
  
William sighed and climbed from his bed, paying Edward little attention as he stressed. Finally, both men donning shirts and hose left the chamber. Edward led carrying the candle at a run. "Slow down! How can I..." It was like talking to a little child, nothing could be done as the king ran into Warwick, Edward hit the ground with a thud. "Edward." Both Hastings and Warwick reached out to take his hand and help him up.   
  
"Warwick." Edward brushed dust off his clothes.  
  
"Where is your majesty going in such a hurry?"    
  
"To find a woman."  
  
"I see."   
  
"Clearly my lord you don't, else you'd not be in my way as you are."   
  
Edward side stepped the earl hurrying on his way once more. "Ed-" he was gone before Warwick could register his objections

 

\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----

Elizabeth Woodville sat upon the bed, her hands stinging from the cold. For days she had seen no human contact, since grand madam bitch Beaufort, supposed Queen of England had her dragged here with no explanation of the reasons why. The queen had been angry with no explanation given. Of course, she had heard the rumours that the king had applied to the Pope for an annulment, one which had divided the court. Chief of approval had been that arrogant son of a bitch the Earl of Warwick, he had already been said to be planning a union with the French, by way of marriage between Edward and the Princess Bona. The man had been plotting before the annulment had even come through, as though Edward could not make his own decision. God forbid the King of England should ever be allowed to do that... No, that should be forbidden.  
  
Elizabeth has not been told, but she had known the reasons for her being locked up in this room, the very room she had known Edward and Edmund had been locked in by Somerset so many years ago, the same room the current King of England had seen so much torment in. Yes, she had known why she had been made to disappear from the court without so much as a hint dropped to her. The rumours had been flying long ago that the queen was to Edward as good as barren, for he could get no children from her, no pleasure, for she would not seek his bed nor allow he to seek hers. So the king had been looking for a new mistress, she had of course been the likely cul prate. How little they all knew her, if they thought that she would give herself to Edward so willingly, she was not a wanton whore and would not appear so. No crime came from her actions, she had saved the man she loved and would likely be accused of treason for trying to kill him – trying to kill when she had done nothing of the sorts.   
  


She could not sleep, no matter how she tried. Her head had rested against the pillow several times that night, to no avail. Her eyes had not closed and her breath had not become patterned, for her belly hurt, she was cold and fear had its grip upon her stomach. She would likely never see Edward again, she would likely never have the opportunity to tell him it was the queen herself who had warranted his death and failed. He likely would not believer her even if she could.   
  
The time must have been the small hours of the morning when she heard the first, most welcome noise she had heard in what felt like an eternity. The doors outside the room were opened, she heard voices, male voices, loud male voices. Foot steps, shouting, a reply. Minutes passed she knew, listening intently to the words, grasping a conversation between the guard she had not known to be there and a man who clearly wanted to be her saviour. Was it Anthony? Her brother she knew would have heard about her imprisonment and would have sworn to see her released. She could not tell who the voices belonged to. Could barely detect what they were saying.   
  
Unconsciously she gripped the sheets as she heard metal impact on metal, a jingle and with that several strikes to the door itself. Each kick harder than the last until finally the wood cracked away from the lock, the door creaked open. “Elizabeth?” She shook, every part of her shook at the familiar voice. He had come for her? Truly.   
  
“Your Grace.” She tried to stand, falling into his arms.   
  
“Do not, you need not stand.” His hands lifted her from the ground into strong arms. She looked to William Hastings, smiled in Edward's arms as he carried her from the room and through the halls of Westminster, undisturbed in the dead of night, to his bed chamber laying her lightly in his bed. “Sleep, I shall have some food brought for when you wake.” He kissed her, his hand resting gently upon her breast, lingering, like he had not noticed it there at all. For the first time since she had met him so many years ago, she did not mind his touch. She surprised herself in that she wanted his touch... Longed for the warmth, the pleasure it would bring her.   
  
She wanted to tell him, fought the will to sleep. Until he stepped away, her eyes closed and smiling she slept. Never releasing the thought that he would spend that night beside her, watching as she slept. Somehow, that thought brought her the best form of comfort.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Anne Neville was racing through the halls of Westminster, already she had been scolded for sending the Duke of Clarence to the floor in her haste, followed by Queen Margaret and three of her ladies. She could not help it, she had to get to Isabelle and tell her sister this news, it was indeed most important; Isabelle would be thrilled that she had been the first to hear of this.. After William Hastings of course. Anne reached her sister, panting for breath, trying to conjure the words as Isabelle stared out of the window; her dark brown hair almost glowing in the brilliant sun, her pale skin radiating the rays. Anne stopped, monetarily awestruck by the older girls beauty before Isabelle turned, reminding her of all the reasons Isabelle Neville could never be beautiful in her younger sisters eyes. "What is it Annie? You're wasting my time, panting like an old and wasted dog. Why can you not do anything right?"   
  
It hurt, but Anne took it in her stride, took in a breath and stood tall. "The King is getting married."   
  
"I know that you fool, everyone knows that. Papa has arranged for Edward to marry Bona of Savoy."   
  
"A French princess?"  
  
"Who else you stupid girl? He has annulled his marriage to Margaret Beaufort, thank god, now he is to marry a princess."   
  
"She didn't sound like a princess."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Elizabeth Woodville."  
  
"That's because he's not marrying her you silly girl, do you listen to nothing."  
  
"No he has married her, May Day."   
  
"Where have you heard such stupid gossip? It's like treason Annie and you'll burn for it."   
  
"No I won't!" Anne Neville held back tears, gulping, entwining shaking hands behind her back. She would not admit that her sister scared her, Isabelle always lied. King Edward loved them all too much to see them burn, he would never have a child charged with treason. Not king Edward, not Richards brother. And the duke of Gloucester would not let her burn, not ever. "I heard the king talking to William Hastings."  
  
"You were listening in to the kings conversation?"  
  
"No, I heard it when passing."  
  
"Oh how convenient!" Isabelle turned sharply brushing passed Anne at a run.   
  
"Izzy where are you going?"  
  
"To tell papa."  
  
"But-"  
  
"He must know Annie! The king will make a fool of him otherwise."  
  
"But Izzy." Anne could make no more objections, for the older girl had left.   

 

**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**

 

"Have you gone mad?" Warwick stood before the king in his presence chamber, Edward smiled mildly amused, slumped in a chair looping his fingers around the blade of a jewelled dagger, balancing the lethal object neatly. The earl was furious, it surprised few as this man, so well known for his rages, stamped up and down in front of him. So far they had lost count of the number of objects which had gone flying; among them were a pitcher, a plate of gold, several bowls, the goblets which sat on the coffer he had let his arm attack and most recently a suit of armour. Edward was mildly amused, even as his chamberlain, Lord Hastings seemed to be losing his patience, perhaps his nerves.. "You married her, the Woodville whore?"  
  
"She's not a whore, and yea, I married her. Do you have a problem with that my lord Warwick? Does it trouble you that I, as king of England, should take my whim as it pleases me?"  
  
"Not normally Ned, no, I am accepting of your whim when it comes to women and your harlots of so many in number, yet I will not accept being made the fool whilst you marry a common harlot from, where exactly?"  
  
"Thank you my lord Warwick, but tell me why you believe I make a fool of you?"  
  
"You knew of the French marriage contract."  
  
"Yet did not approve nor agree to your suggestion, but my lord warwick you took it upon yourself to do it anyway."  
  
"For England."  
  
"For favour, for power. I am not your puppet my lord."  
  
"Edward, how could you-"  
  
"quite simply, for it is obvious you try to control me as you would control a pup."  
  
"I'm sorry your grace thinks so."   
  
Edward for the first time looked up, blue eyes meeting Warwicks dark eyes, a small smile etched on the younger mans face. "I do not think anything my lord Warwick." His tone was measured, cold, authoritative. William Hastings shuddered at the change in this normally collected man, a man he knew so well. Edward was not one with a need to raise his voice nor his hand to register his displeasure, god bless his lord Warwick should he not see the kings dissatisfaction. "I know you wish to control my power through your schemes and I am sorry I could not let you, but you placed me and not yourself upon the throne, thus it is my power and my choice-"  
  
"To marry a common-"  
  
"Did you interrupt me sir? Your king and sovereign lord?"  
  
"Forgive me." Warwick knelt, head bowed as Edward stood, paced and handed the dagger to Hastings muttering something to the man which made him smile, both chuckled. Warwicks blood was at a boil, it simmered and he felt it, rising up like flames to burn his throat, a red hot and unrelenting anger for this insufferable man. So high and mighty the young man had become, put a crown on a mans head an suddenly he thinks the power is his alone. "Edward I want only what's best  for you."  
  
"And I am glad! Then you will accept this marriage."  
  
"I cannot. Edward, it is-"  
  
"My choice and as your king you will accept my lord Warwick, if that be the last thing you do."  
  
Warwick rose, offering a bow and muttering to himself. "It shall be the thing I do not accept, if it is the last thing I should do." It seemed the king did not hear the words as the earl of Warwick backed out of his presence. Nor the commotion outside as in his anger Richard Neville sent a servant flying, scolding the man with the hot liquid he had been carrying. 

 

**\----~~~\\\o\o\o0o/o/o//~~~----**

  
  
"He married her?" Margaret Beaufort felt her heart stop, her lungs constrict.. The Yorkist bastard had married a common whore, she had lost her place as queen to Elizabeth Woodville? It was unbearable. Her ladies had sugar coated the news, breaking it to her at the best time they could, brushing her hair after her morning bath, she said nothing as they continued their chores. She thought of Edward, her husband, her enemy, her lord and king but never her lover. Is that where she had gone wrong? Was her mistake to let him wander? To let him too often be away from her bed and to never allow his filthy hands to touch her? It was too late for that, it was done, their marriage was annulled and he married the commoner and it was done. All she could do was speak with Edward and plead she be allowed to see her son, be allowed to speak with dearest Henry. She waited until her ladies had finished, and dressed in her finest, a gown of blue velvet with the Yorkist murrey at her sleeves she left her apartments crossing the courtyard to the kings rooms. William Hastings met her, she did not like the little man, his small build and slim physique, dark hair already greying, the man had dull eyes as though he had never seen love nor lust nor happiness. His smile was forced as he bowed to her. "My lady Margaret to what do we owe this pleasure?"  
  
"I wish to see my-" she broke off and smiled, coughing delicately into one hand correcting her near mistake. "I want to see the king my lord."   
  
"His grace is other wise engaged madam."  
  
"His affairs are of no worry to me I trust you understand my lord, so suit me it would if you would take me to him?"  
  
"Indeed madam."   
  
Margaret followed the chamberlain through the halls, stopping outside the kings chambers, she heard the familiar sounds and sighed. "I shall inform his grace of your presence madam." She smiled and nodded as Hastings slipped inside the rooms, several shouts later and a mad scurrying of feet and Edward appeared, hose tied loose about his waist, his hair ruffled and chest glistening with sweat he smiled.   
  
"To what do I owe this pleasure?"  
  
"My son your grace-"  
  
"Edward, please lady Margaret."  
  
"Edward, I wish my son Henry in my care here at Westminster."  
  
"I cannot allow it, firstly madam you shall not be resident here at Westminster, I have seen to it that rooms be made for you at Windsor castle where you may run your household as pleases you until royal escorts announce the courts arrival. Secondly, more importantly, I fear Henry to be in danger should I allow it."  
  
"Danger? Of what?"  
  
"Corruption, or murder. Either way he shall not be staying with you a Windsor. You may write and request visits of course."  
  
"He is my son Edward."  
  
"And I am king, he is my ward and I shall protect him. I serve his interests madam."  
  
"You serve your vanity, your cause and your treason, that is all your grace."  
  
"Ah Margaret." He laughed, taking her hand and kissing it. "You have not changed since that day in York."   
  
"You have, I could have found respect for you that day, you had proved yourself strong in the tower, honourable to your word, now sir you offend god. Your marriage to that whore is not recognised and see to it I shall that the world knows it."  
  
The smiled never faded as he sighed pressing her hard against the wall, whispering in her ear. "Do not think I would not put a woman to the block Margaret, for I would, just ask me to. A woman and her child." He let her go stepping back. "You may escort your son to Ludlow, ensure he has all he needs." He retreated from her view leaving her alone as he returned to his pursuit for pleasure.


	18. Chapter 18

Warwick castle   
1468 

The marriage had been accepted, or so he had thought. Several months, maybe a year had passed with feuds and complaints, when first they had wed, then there had been silence and all had been pushed aside. So it confused Edward as he sat in the great hall f Warwick castle, cold, hungry and alone. The occasional servant had approached, bowed in silence with downcast eyes and continued the trajectory through their pitiful lives without a word. It was unlike Edward to feel anger, especial towards those he knew well, towards those he loved; yet he could not hell the rising anger he knew, the warm crawling at his stomachs pit making it's climb toward his limbs and mouth which would surely see him act severely toward the earl of Warwick and the duke of Clarence who had dragged him here using not themselves but a holy man. George Neville, arch bishop of York had dragged him hear with knowledge that the York King would not strip a man of the church of his head. A move of cowardice from brother George and his grace the duke of Clarence. Neither had greeted him since his arrival, nor left instructions for him to be fed and hosted like a king. No, to Edward the realisation had slowly ebbed to his brain; he was to be treated like a common prisoner, with the rations, restraints and lodgings befitting that role. He would have his chair and vast space only until his cousin returned from his hunt to stop that. 

It had been hours since the king had settled for humming to himself, a merry tune her remembered from his childhood, a merry then his mother had in his cradle sung to him, that he had sung to Elizabeth on so many an occasion, it always brought a smile to his face and joy to his heart. It wasn't long before he heard footsteps, not those of men's boots on the floor but sound of delicate house slippers, a young girls step which had stopped at the doors of the great hall, he looked up. Anne Neville stood silent, her face half shadowed by her riding cloak. She smiled a warm smile and stepped forward curtsying low. "Your grace." 

Edward smiled, stood and bowed in return, smiling to the girl as she rose slowly at his command. "Lady Anne, what brings you to my presence?" 

"I had not expected to find you here your grace."

"Lady Anne you should not, call me Edward for I fear that should my brother have his way he shall take my titles if not my head."

"Surely not your grace."

"Sweet child you deserve none of this, so young, so innocent." He sighed and let his gaze fall upon the window, hearing horses on the cobbles outside. Finally, they had arrived and he would meet his fate. He clenched his fist and bit his lip, drawing blood for his fear, eyes away from the girl he tried to relax, to remove all signs of the fear he felt. He closed his eyes almost jumping as she touched him; soft and small fingers stroking his palm, then his wrist. 

"Do not threat your grace, fear not for papa would not have harm come to your grace." 

"I bless you faith dear Anne, if only I could think you right."

"Surely..."

"My brother would see me hung drawn and quartered for the crown if only he could. With your lord Warwicks support I fear he could."

"They-" she held her breath, choked back a sob, the picture of this handsome man laying dead, disembowelled with his head removed for the walls of York, it was too much to picture. Wiping her eyes she tried to turn, stopped by a strong hand upon her shoulder, transformed to a gentle hug in one swift movement, he knelt and wiped her tears, she relaxed as she looked into his eyes, the gentle eyes of a father, the love and warmth he displayed to his own children and for once he was not her king but her protector, as he knelt before her wiping her tears with shaking hands. 

"Do not cry sweeting, do not ever cry. Not for my at the least, I deserve no tears shed." 

"Annie what are you doing?" Isabelle's voice cut through the room like a hot knife in butter. "Papa will raging. Come here you silly girl." 

"But Izzy the king-"

"He is not the King Annie. George will be king and I queen, he is an imposter. A base born bastard in a noblemans cradle."

"Is that so? My mother told you thus? Or does George try at his poison again?"

"You are to be silent sir, a prisoner of my father you may speak unless spoke to." Anne Neville almost gasped as Edward smiled and offered her sister a bow, as though he were defeated before he turned to the window looking out. "My lord and father will soon be here to see to it that you are lodged accordingly sir, my husband George, the king-"

"I remind you madam that though my brother aspires high, he is not king yet and until the crown is upon his head what you speak is treason. I would hold your tongue for you would ill advised to do otherwise."

"Good day sir, Annie come." Isabelle left with no curtsy nor formality. Anne Neville lingered but a moment watching as the king looked through the window, hands now rested upon the window sill, nails gripping onto stone. She offered a curtsy to his back and left quickly, following her sister with speed. 

 

The earl of Warwick entered the hall, stopping dead, George stopping dead behind him. "Your Grace." He bowed deeply at the waist, eyes upon Edward not lowered to the ground as was custom. Edward had gathered all his strength to face this man, standing tall with regal composure. George offered a small bow, deepening it at Edwards glare. 

"My lord warwick." Edward spoke in a cool tone, his voice loud, authoritative. "My lord Clarence, how pleased I am to see you, I assume it is now I may mention my complaint?"

"Complaint sire?"

"Indeed, for my poor treatment, I have seen neither a fire nor food since I arrived." 

"Then your grace this will not do! I shall have you fed and lodged now your grace." 

"I thank you my lord Warwick, Clarence my brother! Come, sit. I could use my boots cleaning."

"Your sense of humour is as ever impeccable brother."

"Whoever mentioned I was joking, your grace." His voice was rich with sarcasm, the smile suggested he was enjoying himself, despite the still poor conditions. "What is this I hear, of your humour, you shall be king and I'm a base born bastard? I'd advise you on silence your woman's tongue, yet I feel you're poisoning the poor girls mind and would I be far wrong brother?" 

George remained silent, almost squirming under his brothers glare. The servants arrived in silence offering the king a plate of bread and cheese. "Warwick, what is this?"

"Rations sire."

"Rations? For your king!" 

"Forgive me Edward, I shall have some ham fetched for you. Then you may rest." 

"Thank you." 

The king ate in silence, insistent that his kin should eat kneeling before him. He are right slowly, breaking bread and cutting cheese with lord Warwicks own dagger, all sat in silence by his bidding as he smiled, he had own and knew it. "My lord Warwick." Edward out the platter aside and smiled. "I'll take my lodgings now sir." 

"Indeed your grace."

"I suppose you should rise so you do not walk hunchback and Brest yourself."

"I thank you your grace." He rose, taking the lead walking a pace faster than Edward as the man lead the king down into the cellar of the grand castle. "It comes to this? I must sleep in cellar?"

"A cell my lord, to my regret."

"My lord?"

"Yes, Edward I am afraid you'd hall not be king much longer."

"You truly hope to have my brother upon the throne? Mores the pity really sir." 

"Silence yourself." Warwick did the most unexpected action, taking a blow to the younger mans knees sending the king to the floor, clicking his fingers so the men would drag him toward the cell which Warwick desired the young man sleep in. "Have him kept comfortable, there is no need for chains I feel sir. Have the door locked and it guarded. Thank you." 

 

"It's horrible Izzy." Anne Neville paced around her sisters chambers. The king had been in Warwick castle for two weeks, so far their father had pushed for the king to be made powerless an George to take the throne. The king had not been seen since his arrival, thrown in that cell and unheard, unseen completely. It was as though he were dead. Their father, the earl of Warwick had been in the kings cell the night before and the talk was of an argument ensued and the king had come out the worse for ware. "I cannot stand it, the king he-"

"He is not the king Annie, George is Edward is just a common bastard and you are to accept that. Am I clear? I shall hear no more of your pity for the usurper he is to die for his treason." 

"Izzy-" Anne stopped as her sister slapped her hard. She looked to the floor holding her cheek, tears freely flowing down from her eyes. "He-" another slap saw Anne fall to her knees crying. 

"He is nothing! But a commoner and a prisoner! He should not have your sympathies."


	19. Chapter 19

The Tower of London

Elizabeth Woodville, England's unpopular queen sat quietly sobbing into a silk handkerchief. To her left was Margaret Beaufort, her right was her mother. The women formed a circle, Jacquetta Woodville watching the princesses as they dozed in the grand bed. "They took him mother how could they? Edward is king and they took him." She wiped the tears from her eyes "they killed my father and brother, mother they killed our kinsmen."

"I fear it could be worse yet." Jacquetta spoke with a mothers honesty, taking up her daughters hand, remaining strong throughout her daughters grief, disregarding her own sorrows to tend to Elizabeth's. "For I fear is ours lords of Clarence and Warwick are to succeed, the same brutality need be shown to our gracious king Edward."

Margaret tightened her hands upon her dress, twisting the fine fabric until it almost tore, fraying under her nails. She closed her eyes, her mind travelling to Edward. She had never liked Yorks golden boy, but preferred him she did to the earl of Warwick, even her past lover and betrayer the duke of Clarence. Edward was after all an ordained king, to kill him in cold blood was to commit the most high and unholy treason which would surely damn the souls of those involved. She close her eyes to blink back tears before she spoke to comfort England's current queen. "Your grace I am sure his grace king Edward shall be fine, well treated and cared for beyond our knowledge."

"Oh lady Margaret, truly you think so?" At that moment for all she had been accused of, witchcraft, heresy and even treason by his lord Warwick, Elizabeth Woodville had he look of a child neglected, a helpless girl in need of her mothers comfort. Tears had stained china white cheeks and fear had left circles beneath her eyes. 

"I am sure your grace that no harm will come to him."

 

 

Middleham castle

They had moved to Middleham days before. Anne Neville had hated the journey, watching as her father had taken measures to keep their journey secret, to move without the royal soldiers which Richard, sweet Richard, would surely be leading. She did not min if they got caught, despite Izzy saying they would all be put to death for treason, no, she did not mind at all; so long as it was the duke of Gloucester who pulled her from her carriage and into his arms, declaring her his princess. She had blushed all the way there, almost disappointed as they arrived with no difficulty, without meeting the royal men at arms lead by her favourite cousin. Then she had thought for some weeks now that the king had been released, been left at Warwick for all had been so quiet of it, until yesterday when she had heard her father raging at the man. Today she had stormed into Isabelle's chambers to try determine something of news on the matter.

 

"Why is he here Izzy?"

"Who?" Izzy was sat in an ornate chair, two ladies brushed lush long hair, Anne was busy preparing a gown of the finest pink silk. This was their preparation for the dinner their father was holding that night, since her marriage to the Duke of Clarence, Anne had seen a change in her sister, one she did not like. The pretty girl who had bullied Anne, mocked her, now wore fine clothes and had become so ignorant, self admiring and conceited. Anne could not help but think of how much she now reminded her of the Kings mistress - no, his new queen. 

Hard as it was to believe, Elizabeth Woodville was now queen.

"Edward, King Edward why is he here?"

"Are you stupid girl? Papa says you are not to call him King anymore, it's just Edward, not even his lord." Izzy smiled and ran a hand over the skirts as Anne helped her into them. "And George, my George is to be called his Grace. Isn't that wonderful Annie?" 

"He's not king yet, Edward is. It doesn't matter what papa orders if the crown still rests smoothly on Edwards head." Anne cried out as her sisters hand slapped her cheek sending her head lolling to the other side.

"Then if you will ruin the fun and upset a queen so happily perhaps you should be away. Go on, get out."

Anne left, storming from the room with what her father called a hot Neville temper. Francis was quick to join her, noticing her mood he approached with caution. "Lady Anne?" 

"Francis?" She smiled as she recognised his voice. "Oh Francis!" She couldn't help herself but fling her arms around him and smile. He brought back memories of Dickon, the kings brother when he had been here at Middleham, her fathers ward. Francis had been befriended by young Richard, duke of Gloucester and never had they been apart. It was now so that Anne Neville could not see young Francis without her mind leading straight to thoughts of Richard of Gloucester. She flushed scarlet. 

"Lady Anne, you've looked so somber, what has had you so down these last few days?" He smiled, noticeably ignoring her blush. 

"It's terrible Francis." She let the tears break now, a fast embrace saw their end and then they walked slowly, he took in each word and hung upon it as though it were a most precious life source. "My father holds Edward his prisoner."

"His Grace, King Edward." Francis corrected with a smile, ended quickly as Anne shook her head.

"No he is not king, George is." Francis raised an eye brow but said nothing of his thoughts, offered Anne a nod so she would continue. "It is making Isabelle so mean... I wish though that this uncertainty would go away. Can't father just kill Edward and have it over with? At least then we would know where we stand."

"Well then, if it isn't Lady Anne." The familiar voice boomed, the tone momentarily of ice. 

 

 

She stopped only as she walked into him. Frozen with fear, her head hidden from his gaze. She did not need his blue eyes, such deep eyes, she did not need them scrutinising her. She had been so foolish she knew, yet she had not known the king was out of his cell. Had not known he was free to walk the halls of Middleham at his will. She quickly dropped into a curtsy, trying not to shake. "Your Grace forgive me. Those words were not for your ears."

"I had realised as much. When you speak of killing a man, you rarely intend him to hear." Edward smiled, took her hand and kissed it gently. Anne shuddered, it mattered little what his smile said, she saw the pain in his eyes. "Besides, I'm sure you simply wanted me rid of my displeasure. I am sure you." He ran a hand over her cheek, warm skin on soft pink skin, she smiled, relaxing as he touched her, smelling his skin, feeling his warmth, she blushed as he pushed the hair back from her face. "Such beauty in such a young creature. It could never be bad. I'm sure you spoke not treason but mercy."

"My father, his lord of Warwick, does he hurt you?"

"No more than his prisoners could expect. Walk with me lady Anne? I'd like to see the castle in its whole, company would suit me well." 

Francis bowed and took his leave and the King began to walk, Anne's hand hooked into the warm crook of his arm. "Middleham is fine is it not your grace?"

"Beautiful, and I have never much liked the north. Yet the sun shines greater here, to increase her beauty."

"But sire, it rains today."

He simply smiled and said nothing, walking slowly to match her speed, stopping to view the things she viewed. "Lady Anne, I hear your father of Warwick holds a feast tonight."

"Yes, are you to be there?"

"The earl agrees I may if so wish, in honesty I say he does it through self image not charity, no one has seen me in weeks, but my brother of Clarence is less enthused by the offer."

"But you surely won't have a lady to go with?"

"That is the problem, if it could be called such. I could always pick a nice servant girl though." 

"Never! No your grace, you may have my hand at the dance that follows food the eve." 

"My lady, are you sure? But young Francis, surely?"

She giggled, blushed, this man charmed her. He remembered Francis' name with no effort, he offered her all whilst asking for nothing. "No your grace-"

"Edward, Ned if you prefer but Edward at the least, I am tired with formality." 

"Edward, Francis be married."

"Yes, I should have known. You are not? Even spoken for?"

"My father has tried your, Edward, he tried for the Duke of Gloucester." 

"Yes, Dickon. It could never happen dear Anne."

She wanted to scream, to scream and kick, to slap him, to perform her fathers plans for him. Anything. Anything for him to take those words back. Instead she settled for a strained "why?"

Margaret... Elizabeth... Warwick... 

How sick he was of the control these people held over his life. None wanted Anne and Richard to be wed, else they wanted it enough but committed treason, or wanted it enough to commit treason and all had combined to make his final judgment. No one had wanted the young lovers to be wed more than he. "Because Dickon was betrothed long ago."

"That cannot be."

"I'm afraid so." 

"I had not realised." 

"Few had my lady." He offered a smile, one which quickly failed as Warwick marched around the corner, freezing at the sight before him. "My lord of Warwick."

"Your Grace." He offered a reluctant bow. "Anne." 

"Your daughter was so kind as to offer her hand for a dance tonight. I was sure to accept. I'll return to my." He paused an searched for a word, smiling as he said it. "Chambers now." 

"Of course." Warwick bit down on his tongue, trying not to take up a sword and behead the boy he'd once loved. Perhaps it was Anne's presence, perhaps the memory of his loyalty to York, perhaps it was Edwards very presence, but he resisted. Walking the king slowly to the castles cellar opening a wooden door. "Make yourself comfortable." Once the door was closed, Warwick was sure to ensure that this time he locked the door.


	20. Chapter 20

Isabel approached her sister, smirking as she did. “Annie, George has offered to dance to the end of banquet with me. Isn’t it splendid?” Anne Neville offered her politest smile to her older sister, nodding in acceptance that indeed it was wonderful, although her sisters tone had said it all. Little Annie wont have anyone to dance with, little Annie will be seemingly unimportant. Her attention changed as hands slipped onto her, a gentle voice close to her ear, close enough to feel warm breath, the rough bristle of facial hair and the smell of wine and ginger. She relaxed as soft skin caressed hers.

“Lady Anne, you should not spend your time concerned for what Isabel says, what is a dance after all?”

“Magical.” She heard his gentle laugh as she spoke, finally seeing the man who had approached her to be all but the man she thought him to be. John Neville was her uncle, the younger brother to her father and one of the more caring men she had ever known. Never once had he favoured darling Isabel over her, unlike the rest of her Neville kindred. She did not hate being the one they never noticed, at times she liked to be free of the responisbilites her sister bore just by her senior years, yet the idea of a man, a man to keep her stable, to make her a duchess….

Her mind had wandered to Richard of Gloucester, to how she missed him, longed for him. Of how that thought surprised her. Yet for only a moment. She tensed as John Neville stepped back, as the doors opened and there was momentary silence. She did not see him before his hands covered her eyes and his lips connected with her cheek, gentle, delicate. She relaxed as his hand lowered to hers, the smell of rose, ambergris and mint gracing her nostrils in harmony. Her eyes slipped over his attire, heart skipping at the sight of purple velvet, a shirt of cloth of gold. He had spared no effort to look like a king tonight, the rubies at his neck told her more than she needed to know. He took his seat beside her, releasing her hand only to accept food and cut it delicately with the dagger from his belt. "Anne, you seem distracted this evening."

She knew it had been invite for conversation, but she could not stop her tongue. She flushed with embarrassment as he stared back in mild amusement as she spilled her story to him. How immature she felt, how could a king be concerned with the affairs of a girls jealous for her sister? He surely could not understand he want for a moment in which she, Anne Neville, would be the worlds centre to a single living soul. And so surprise took we as she finished her words to him. She jumped as he got to his feet, taking her hand in his own, rising her with swift grace before lifting her in his arms and carrying her to the space left open between the food filled tables. Placing her gently on her feet, resting a hand on her hip. His lips moved close to her ear, in warm gusts he whispered to her and moved away one moment. “George, place on it my crown I should dance you to the nights end with this woman and that you shall tire before I.”

Her heart raced, fighting for freedom as he pulled her close when George rose with Isabel. They would compete, for her, for England. And what was she, the lesser party to do should she fail? Should Edward lose his head if George was to leave the floor without so much a sigh if breathless exhaustion? She gripped velvet and his her face, blushing as he kissed her hand and stripped velvet, pulling her close to him as music started.

She had never danced with men, never felt toned muscles pull I to place as he lead the erotic steps and pulled her to him, pushed her away and span her around like a doll in a girls hand. It took a moment but she fell into his step, softening as his hands travelled her body in moves of sweet seduction. It was sin, it was Satans own bidding to dance with a married man, a spoken for man and she knew it without care. Caught only in the thought that she now, was all he felt, all he breathed. She was second in this room only to him.

She cared not for the silent glares of her Neville kindred, nor for George's smooth sweeps. Only for Edwards hands, for the strong arms that lifted her and pulled her close, for soft fingertips that played at her bodice, at skin which before had never been touched. Her father she knew would have him punished for this, he knew it too with fearless determination. If he was to take the pain, he'd enjoy himself first ensuring she was begging for more by the end of their night.

She almost sobbed as the music stopped, he stepped away. Stripping the shirt from his body he stepped forward, taking her again in his arms and nodding for all to continue. Lords whooped as he lifted her, Neville's glared as her hand dared stroke his skin. She gulped, relaxed as he pulled her close, soft lips trailed her neck, the cold feel of teeth gently scraped skin, sending her alight with desire. All his plan she knew as like wax to fire she melted at his touch.

She gulped as once more she was held in strong arms, limp under his touch as a horse with legs broken, as clay he could craft into intricate shapes, as water to the witches control. She would blow like the wind if he so wished it, would shimmer like gold and fly like an angel. He need just wish it and it would be done. His left hand rested upon her lower back, his right moving to her silk covered belly, up for a daring second. His touch she knew was fire, gentle waves of pleasure saw her lift In his arms as he spun them both. Her right leg lifted to his hip as his hand held her high. Light finger tips burning softened muscle. She was weightless in her arms yet blind to the world around her. It was though they both were alone; transported from reality into heaven where truly, they could be together. She made no effort to complain as his hand slipped up, inflicting pure and sinful pleasure, she bent in his arms, cast back to the world as she landed on one strong leg, held from falling only by his hand upon her waist, pulling her against his hard torso. Her hand slipped over his cheek as following Isabel’s step she walked around him, much as her mother had taught at the mayday festivities.

Isabel watched, red hot anger filled her veins. For all his effort her husband could not succeed. There was no passion in his moves only need to see the crown from his brothers head. No love nor care, simply jealousy. She stumbled to the floor, wincing as the stones broke her fall, helped to her feet by both men, Anne still clinging to Edwards left arm. The duchess of Clarence wiped her eyes, leaving the hall in sobs of heart break. It took him a moment, a glance to Edward and a look of pure jealousy before George, aware he had lost fled the hall to find his wife.

***

They had left the hall in silence, sneaked from view into the barely lit hallways beyond. Anne smiled as he pulled her close, gently stroking soft golden brown locks a he pressed her head against his chest. She heard his heart, felt his breathing. Gentle pants through golden cloth as he tried to hide signs of fatigue. "Ed-" He cut her off, warm lips brushed hers, pausing for a moment before he pulled himself away with a practiced apology. For once she was thankful for their dim surroundings as blushes burned her delicate cheeks. A display of vulnerability she wished him not to see. Her heart thudded as he pulled her close, backing into a shadowed retreat as men rushed passed in search for her, for him. her father she knew had ordered it so. The Duke of Clarence had not long since returned, furious with Edward for the show which had upset his wife. Now Edwasrd would be thrown in a cell and the key destroyed, should either of his captors have their own way.   
  
As she heard Edward's breaths, his hidden chuckle she knew to him it was a game. To hold close the youngest treasure of the Warwick household was to him all the thrill of battle and more. It wasn't long before the men had passed, and his hand slipped around her waist as they stepped from their hiding place. She blushed as her hand connected with woolen hose, she heard his inhale, felt his hand tighten at her back, his other slowly stroking at her bodice. As more men rushed passed she could not control it, her hand reaching up around his neck, to pull him close and taste minted breath as their lips met without restraint. Her eyes closed, once more she was limp in his arms.Her brain begged for control. knowing she should not, could not; for if now she was to be caught there could be no return. She was kissing England's rightful king, kissing the enemy of her father, yet unlike the fairy tales of Camelot, she knew this could not end well. It would not end in a beautiful Princess marrying a handsome knight, nor a common girl marrying a graceful king. For that had already been done, that had been what brought him to her.   
  
That was the only thing Anne Neville thought the Woodville whore would ever do right.  
  
No, to be found now would mean Edward's death, her exile. She couldn't break it though, could not, no matter how she tried push him away. More hurried feet brought them closer, pressing, body to body against each other. No escape possible as they held each other there, feeling the others heart, breathing the others breaths and sharing the most intimate embrace their positions would allow. He released her, careful to see she did not fall from the step on which they had been stood. "Anne." He spoke softly, quiet, yet his voice was deceptively deep, husk. He gulped, caught his breath and found his words. "Lady Anne, that should be all, we must not, not now." She nodded, composed herself. Her right hand brushing creases from her skirts, her left pulling her bodice straight. He'd turned to run as she spoke, grabbing his hand and holding him there.   
  
"Edward, don't let yourself be hurt. I love you. Capture now means certain-" He broke her off with another kiss. She half stood, half leaned breathless and smiling.   
  
"I'll come to your rooms this night. But Anne, this cannot-"   
  
She screamed. The crash happened quickly and she fell into forceful arms which pulled her back, passed to another, this one she knew to be her mother from the grip, the scent. From the rough handling no other could give her. "You shall do nothing of the sort." Warwick turned to Anne, eyes cold with anger, dismay, betrayal. She shivered under hsi gaze, for once unwelcoming of the attention this man was about to offer her. She would take it, she would say nothing to fight the fate she was about to face. tears left her eyes as she looked past at Edward, kneeling on the floor his hands and feet now bound by chains, blood dripping from his lip. He looked little like the King he was, the king she knew him to be. He looked up as Warwick stepped closer, his hand raised and lifted his daughters chin, slapping her cheek hard. "You!"  
  
"Dont, Warwick, dont. It wasn;t her. She got no say." Edward coughed the words with reluctance only she could see. Hiding his face as Warwick turned anger on him.   
  
"What did you say?"  
  
"I said she had no choice! Leave her. There is no dishonour in her, it comes from me."   
  
"You held her and you kissed her, would have taken her at force and claim it to be so?"  
  
"Yes, but you must leave her, kill me if it so pleases, but do not lay a hand on her for it, I say, is as bad as treason to hurt that poor girl."   
  
Warwick nodded, taking Anne in his arms he held her as she sobbed, to him playing her part as she stared at Edward with sorrow filled eyes. She wanted to object, to scream the truth from the castles battlements, if it spelled her demise so be it. yet now she knew it would do no good. No matter of her confessions, she could not stop what would befall him, and of course, he had known his fate would come and no man, woman and no girl could stop it. Her heart stopped as she thought, had she not uttered those words which stopped his leaving he would be safely away from her fathers grasp; safely away of whatever lay ahead. As she watched, from her mothers arms, as Edward rose on shaking knees and walked with clinks from the shackles which held him. She knew nothing of what would come for him but wanted nothing more to stop it as her mother turned her back toward Middlehams main apartments. She would sleep with ladies tonight, Edward would sleep alone and cold.   
  
She could not help but cry and clench her fist as the Duke of Clarence brushed her arm, smiling in gleeful joy those nights which past. 

***

2 weeks later.

_Dearest Lady Anne_

_My heart doth slow since I am alone. I dream in my sleep and my wake._  
No matter if my eyes are open or closed, it is as though you are there.  
I wake in a bed so cold and lonely and sleep in that same room, no breaks  
permitted; I think I will lose my senses should I be alone forever. Perhaps  
that is Warwick's plan?  
To see me mad and dethrone me, as Henry before me.   
I beg it of you, only one thing. Do come and see me, no matter the cost to me  
I care not if I lose my head, for I would rather lose my life than lose my love.   
  
With all my heart.  
Yours Truly  
Edward, E. Marche.

 

She gasped, reading the letter once more, sure it was in his hand. Confusion took her by surprise as once more she read the letter. He was alive, and well enough to write. Yet defeated he appeared to be. Why had he used his old title? Why had he written to her? So many questions and each needing answers. it would not be long before she got them. Not long before she slipped from her mothers presence and down the castle's steps to the lowest points, searching for the creator of the letter. Searching for the man who needed her help. 


	21. Chapter 21

He started awake, sat quickly on the straw taking air into his lungs. Johnny had saved him, had stopped Warwick from removing his head. Had stopped the mercy which could have been, in comparison to this hell. For here he slept, here he woke. Here he ate come twice a week. No rest had allowed itself to truly manifest for days, since he had woken from a fever induced sleep, three days or so had passed then without his worries of the outside world. He had spoken to no one and written nothing. Each day he watched the sun rise and fade, as with no, the room darkened and again he was left alone, cold, his stomach begging for food. The footsteps stopped outside the door, two clicks and it swung open. He rose, saddened only as Warwick greeted him, approaching the table placing a tray on it's top. "I brought you wine, my lord." 

"Thank you Warwick." 

"And bread, and cloths. To mop the blood you'll spill tonight." 

"Warwick-" he was silenced by a hard fist in the gut forcing him to vomit the little food he had left whimpering ah the pain, failing to defend himself as the second bruises his jaw. "Why?" He spluttered scrambling, trying to climb to his feet, knocked down with a painful thud. 

"I forbade you write, to Anne of all people, my lord of March." 

"You, how?"

"I can intercept my daughters letters Edward without much difficulty." Another punch made Warwick smile as Edward remained, kneeling silently upon the floor, panting before he spat blood and a singular tooth, hatred burning in once peaceful eyes. Warwick gulped, he'd seen the look only once before. The aftermath of such a look had been bloody enough to scorch it's way into his memories, both sleeping and wake. 40,000 had died bloody, brutal deaths at Towton for Edwards pleasure, pleasure Warwick knew he'd now draw from a scaffold in the bailey and a Neville head upon on a spike. 

"This is treason."

"To harm an earl? I think not. And you yourself signed as an earl, not a king. I'll say, your defeat surprised me."

"It's not defeat, I am king. A long living in fear you'd discover such."

Warwick laughed, lifting Edwards head with a finger, smiling as he did. "You're growing wise quickly cousin." He pulled the dagger from his belt dropping the kings head. "Still it's a shame it took so long you've run my patience dry." Edward objected just barely as Warwick pushed him back, holding the knife against his throat. Silently he begged, wanting nothing more than an end to the misery. Warwicks hand lifted, Edwards eyes closed, it was a second. Warwicks hand came down meeting the flesh of Edwards arm as he rolled. He held back the scream as quickly blood ran from the vain. He winced, moved, slicing his foot with a kick to deflect the second, the third impacted at his side with painful effects. This time he cried out, thankful for the sound of running feet. He didn't bother to ask, to try to stay awake. Impulse took him and soon he was asleep preying for heaven on cold stone flags. 

 

 

For hours Anne Neville had been pressing wine soaked rags against the wounds as she stitched carefully. Little light meant little time, until her aunts groom had found her and brought candles. The look upon his face now utter loss, complete devastation as she held a wine goblet to Edwards unresponsive lips, wrapping him in blankets. The young servant set a fire in the corner pulling a chair beside it. "Lady Anne should sit, I'll care for him." 

"But sir-"

"I was there at Towton me lady, I know how to bring men from fevers." He stepped close, letting her away. She watched from the fire as Katherine Neville's own groom slowly brought Edward from his unconscious state. The king reached instantly for the mans hand, silenced as Anne raced over, raising an eye brow at the mans finger upon Edwards lip. "Me lady I told you, I was at Towton. How does his lordship feel?"

"Edward?"

"Oh." He dazed for a moment, confused by pain and faces. When he had woke he had been sure, this man was unmistakable yet had silenced any confirmation. Had stopped the question: how could it be? "Tired." 

"Tis' to be expected really yer lordship be tired." The man rose, scribbling on paper folding it tightly he approached, like magic slipping it into Edwards hand, Anne appeared not to see. "I'll leave you now and-"

"Billy."

"Me lady?"

"Say nothing, of my being here."

"Aye! If anyone does wonder twas' me! I found his lordship, I saved him." 

Anne smiled. "I thank you, and likely will see you at feast."

"Likely not, I am not permitted by my lady Katherine."

"Baroness of-" Edward coughed looking at the man, suppressing a smile. Suddenly, so much made sense.

"Hastings." The man bowed before he left the room on the lightest feet Edward had ever known.

 

 

She had never seen him before that night, but suddenly he was everywhere. Since the arrival of the aunt she had seldom met, he had something to do with everything. Anne Neville had tried to speak to the serving boy as he raced from one room to the next. Finally they were alone. She sat sewing at a tapestry, careful not to loop the needle into the pink silk of her dress. He knelt by the fire hands working quickly to keep the flames crackling, already this evening he had served her food fit for a king. "Excuse me." She blushed as he looked up, hazel eyes meeting her own gentle green, eyes so full of love as Edward had described them. She could not hide her thoughts, her cheeks flooded with heat, reddening as the young servant smiled. She remembered only that moment the cause of her embarrassment. She had bothered to learn nothing of the man, including his actual name. Billy she knew had been fake, like all the Robins of rebellions. "Good sir surely you'd be so kind to tell me your actual name. If you'll be in my presence longer that is? I couldn't stand to lie to myself, nor inflict upon you an unreal name."

 

She gulped at his laugh, warm and familiar. "Of course M'lady, I be Thomas or so they all do call me."

"They all?"

"My master, and lady."

"You mean my aunt Katherine?"

"Aye, her." Both sets of eyes looked up as John Neville entered. The younger brother to the earl of Warwick had always proven a gentle soul, desperate not to betray either side, a loyal Yorkist and Neville. He was one of the few men Anne now could stand to be around. Yet that moment she had seen anger, hatred flash through even gentle johns eyes as he looked upon the servant. 

"Johnny?"

"Oh, lady Anne my sweet niece. Your father wishes your presence." 

"Of course. But I feel so very faint."

"Is my lady hungry?" Thomas asked as he knelt, eyes downcast, seemingly petrified of the most gentle man Anne had known - the most gentle bar Dickon who'd yet to scar a flys wing in temper. 

"No tom-"

"Tom?" John Neville nearly laughed as he shouted the name. "Your name is Tom? You jest surely."

"I do not see the humour in a name uncle." 

"No, quite right." He cut off and turned his head as the door once more opened, Warwick entered the chamber followed by the lady Anne had thought would remain invisible her entire visit. Katherine Neville, baroness of Hastings entered with fine composure, sitting confidently ladylike upon a stool. Warwick started the conversation without hesitation.

"Sister, this is anne, she is the younger of my daughters."

"I remember Richard I do. We were all so frightfully disappointed she was a girl, not as pretty as she might have been either. Isabelle is doubtless the most beautiful girl."

"I thank you." Richard Neville smiled, placing a gentle hand upon Anne's shoulder. He did not hesitate nor look as he clicked the other hand. "You, fetch some wine." 

Anne watched, about to object as the servant scurried off without a word returning quickly with silver goblets listening as the adults spoke. The man smiled as Anne sighed in her boredom. Her fathe spoke of King Edward as though the man were dead already not locked whimpering in his cell. Tom set to pouring the wine as Anne settled herself beside her father. Listening with fake intent as he spoke. 

Katherine Neville smiled, hearing her brothers words of the bastard York usurper now shivering with the rats in middlehams dungeon. Rightfully so. She looked up and took the goblet as the man handed it her. For a moment she paused, the eyes bore into her. Her heart fought for control, it was not possible. It was a moment more of talking before all was silenced by the crack of her hand around the servants face. He fell to the floor smashing a table with the force. "You do not touch me! Do not!"

She looked horrified as the peasant winced and fled. Warwick was in seconds on his feet approaching her. "Katy-"

"It's fine he was simply mistaken of his rank. I'm sure he will not do it again brother." 

"I could make sure of it." 

"That should not be necassary."

 

Anne walked with her aunt down the halls. Tom was following in silence, head bowed as he carried the older woman's train. The women spoke of flowers, dresses and of course children. Katherine Neville spoke of the children she had born her husband, talking of young master William and master Edward both growing strong now, 2 and 3 with older sisters both each bit as fine as their mother she knew they would be. Whilst the boys fought better than their father. Thomas smiled, brought back to the hall and his position only as Katherine turned. "Young man will you hurry your walk and stop dawdling else you'll rip my dress and my husband shall then be wroth." 

 

It wasn't until dinner three weeks later Katherine saw him again. His hand had once again brushed hers only this time it lingered, as he knelt before her. She gulped, this time she could not mistake him. The brown hair hidden and his facial hair showing, no change of clothes could hide him from her. With a ladies composure she rose, leaving the hall beckoning he follow. "What are you doing? You could have been killed!"

"Say nothing."

"You are giving me orders?" She scoffed as she knocked the cap off his head with the slap "you sir are in no position to order me."

"I am-"

"Oh you would like for me to tell my brother just who you are, then you could join the king." 

"Katherine!"

"Do not! You fool, and England is currently in your hands. God help us." 

"Ten times improved from England being in your brothers hands or god forbid George's."

"You insolent-"

"I am your lord and you shall not speak to me so less you wish to warrant yourself a strike."

"So Warwick would remove your hand?" She panted in anger, trying to gain her breath as he pushed her against the wall, strong arms holding her without struggle. "Release me." 

"Sweet Katherine." His hand brushed her cheek gently. "So beautiful when your angry. A true Neville." For a moment she forget herself so much as to let him kiss her, her hands slipped around his back. A momentary slip as she pulled the dagger from his belt to his throat. 

"Do not move my lord." She kissed his cheek as he backed into the far wall, listening with closed eyes as she spoke "I am sorry william. But Edward cannot be king, if my husband must die for that to happen, so be it." With one knee movement she watched him fall to the floor in deep pain. She was away, hurting through middlehams halls as though it was her only escape. 

He took a breath, quickly rising to his feet. He fought the pain, how he did not know, running after her and into the path of John Neville, the one man he did not wish to see. "Sir William. Or shall I call you Thomas?" 

"Joke though it may please you, your sister, my wife is about to commit high treason. Now move from my path or god help me for what I may do." 

"You're sure?" John stumbled backwards turning to a run. Panting as he reached her, grabbing her arm, prying the dagger from her hand. "You will not kill Edward. Am I clear? Why are you so against the king dear sister?" She said nothing as her husband drew himself to halt as he made ground, panting resting hands on aching knees. "Katherine why?" She simply stared at William with hating eyes, stepping toward him, her hand slapping his face again. 

"You put him before me, and he has you whoring and chasing. For fun no less."

"This is about-" he watched as she left. John Neville sighed and approached.

"tell me, lord chamberlain why are you here?"

"That is of the kings affairs."


	22. Chapter 22

Anne Neville walked quickly, tripping up steps as she stumbled in the dark. She caught herself, almost whimpering as her nail made impact with the stone walls, snapping as it did. A week had passed since the King had ventured from Middleham with her father, for Warwick had claimed Edward needed to be seen; that England would crumble to rebellion should people hear the rumours much more. Edward was not dead, and there had for the last days been order in England. Yet she could not understand it, no matter how she tried. Isabel had warned her, politics was no place for a woman, for politicians were men with blood on their hands. Not women or girls suited to sewing, to dancing. No, she would not keep out of this. 

She ran, around a corner and gasped, jumping back. The flames had almost blinded her, so unexpecting of them she had been. men had gathered in the halls of Middleham. Men at arms wearing her fathers livery. She gulped as she stood against the wall, in darkness. Thoughts raced through her head. War? Rebellion? Once there had been a time she would have denied it, could not have thought it possible. For once her father had been the most loyal Yorkist in England, and now? Now she could not say he would not, now she had to warn Edward of this. No matter the cost. 

She turned, stumbled and almost screamed as strong hands held her, pulling her into complete shadow. His hand covered her mouth, she relaxed, pulled tight, safe against hard muscles. She inhaled sweet scents, ambergris, rose, mint... She smiled and gulped as Warwick walked around the corner. "Anne?"

"Papa!" She was given way, allowed to step forward, his hand still on hers, not ever releasing her fully. 

"What ever are you doing from your bed sweeting?"

"I could not sleep papa I-" She gulped and paused once more as George walked around the corner, joining his cousin in complete shock,. His eyes falling on Anne as though she were a pest, a flea infestation upon his favourite hunting mutt, the plague itself at Middleham. Somehow he brought himself to bow, muttering words she barely heard to Warwick. Words she knew the man behind her would not have failed to hear in all their clarity. Words he seemed to know too well as she fell back into his arms. "Papa!" She could not help herself, her free hand reached for Warwick's and met only air as she spluttered for breath suddenly. Her captors arm, that had once been a haven now became close to demise. 

If only for a moment Edward's arm slipped around her neck, before the dagger pressed against her throat. She shuffled forward at his nudge. "Anne." Warwick stepped forward, stopped as George's hand reached his shoulder.

"At least my brother does have whits enough to stop disaster dear cousin." No one showed surprise as Edward stepped into view, holding Anne with one arm and easily. "You'll let me go cousin-"

"Edward, unhand her and go easily, I need not kill you if you return to your cell. No blood needs be shed this night."

Edward laughed, she shuddered as she heard the sound of cold joy. Felt the blade dig, scratch then pull away. She held back tears, trying hard to be brave as he held her. Trying hard to convince herself that this man, of all, the man she now loved not as her king, nor friend but as her protector, her knight would not hurt her. He could not, by England's law and his own vows bring harm to a woman without due cause. Due cause she had not given him. They stepped forward again, the knife drawing blood this time as George stepped forward. "Do not play me brother, for I jest not. I will, to my regret, cut her throat and call it over. If it means my kingdom is returned."

"This is your death Ned. Our cousin will not show mercy when you hold a blade to his daughter's throat!" George stepped forward again, trying hard to reach for Anne as she pulled from his grasp. 

"Mercy as already he has shown me?!" Anne heard the break in his voice, felt his hand release and cold tears hit her collar. She gulped, so desperately she needed to comfort him, to hold him and tell them all. He was to be left alone, by her command. It would fail she knew, she held her tongue.

"Don't be a fool cousin, you cannot surely think i will let you walk, now of all. You have proved yourself too dangerous, too strong to bring to-"

"Your heel? I am not your puppet Warwick and it displeases you. Mayhap you would do well to note, it never was so that i be your puppet. You could never have controlled me, nor Margaret dare I say. You thought me weak and were proven wrong; you gambled, you lost."

"It is now how you choose o go dear cousin. I will dispatch you cleanly, with dignity the morrow should you play your hand well and release her."

"I cannot. I shall not."

"You cannot truly think to win now Edward."

"Oh, but I shall. Warwick, you may recall, unlike you, I have never lost a battle."

"And each time you have had an army, unlike now."

 

George moved in time, the knife pressing to his throat as the wall beside them caved, the sounds of exploding barrels filling all ears before men could react. Warwick did not look but winced, his men lay dead or dying before he could move. "Hastings. Dickon, so glad you both could join me." 

"Dickon, release that blade from my throat." George spoke in an almost silent whisper. looking to Edward for reassurance he would not gain. 

"Ned, your grace, release lady Anne, we are here now." Richard spoke in a voice much deeper than Anne recalled. As she looked to him, green eyes meeting brown, he looked the same as when last she had seen him. Youthful, serious, perhaps an inch gained to his height and the dark shadow upon his face, as accompanied adult men. He looked too young to hold a dagger, so close to the throat of England's heir. William Hastings touched her arm, caught her eye. She gulped and pulled away, how could it be? Thomas... Anger pulsed through her veins as she turned to the man who had lied to her so openly, so callously without a care. The blade shifted from her neck, she was free to move as she did please as Edward moved back, in small paces. 

"You are a fool greater than I thought Edward, you will be killed before you leave Yorkshire. For it is I who hold command at Middleham-"

 

"And I trust you not to give the order dear cousin. For you surely will regret it. Johnny holds the east wing, Lord Stanly the west, of course, here I stand with Dickon and Hastings to the south, leaving the north, with your wife and the duchess of Clarence free for Buckingham's taking. You can of course have me killed and I doubt it not you would. If it did not mean Middleham's demise."

"You whoreson-"

"And now you insult my mother." He said it with a simple tut as he turned. "You'll let me leave I trust, to rule my country as any king should?" 

"Of course, your grace." 

Anne stumbled back, unhearing of the words which exchanged between the men. Leaning against a wall allowing sobs to rack her body, she heard feet, a pause and then she heard Edward call. "Dickon! Leave her!" and they were gone. 

 

 

Pembrooke Castle. Wales

"No, my husband the King said-"

"He is not your husband, you are no queen madam, but a traitor and a fool!" The York Lords charged through the hall upturning tables and searching for evidence. Try as she might she knew she could not stop them. Margaret Beaufort got to her feet, following the lords she knew the most. Lord Warwick was an absence she would not miss, the traitor of Clarence also. All others were there she knew. Her eyes caught on the face she sought, the man she had searched the crowd for. 

"Lord Hastings! Please, the King where is he?"

"He sends his regrets, he wishes to see you."

"He is here at Pembrooke is he not?" She followed Hastings as he walked in silent refusal to answer her questions. Doors were thrown open and boxes searched. "At least tell me, for what they are looking! Am I not owed that right?"

"Indeed, they search for evidence."

"Of what?"

"Your crimes against the kings person my lady."

She paused for a moment, staring in disbelief. It took a moment, the shock faded as she began to walk quickly behind the chamberlain. "This is absurd! He is my husband why would I wish to kill him?"

"For that reason madam. For your son by law inherits the throne and you have known it all too well. Surprised I am you did not tell my lord of Clarence, of course, his grace believes you did, and plotted with Warwick to see him-" Hastings looked up as a man in his livery approached with scrolls, handing them over with little hesitation. Margaret's heart jumped from her chest as Hastings' eyes slipped over the documents. It was a moment of silence before he spoke, a tone as cold as ice, eyes never leaving the papers. "Get the boy." Men left quickly, she tried to catch them, tried to stop them, brought to halt by a hand she knew too well, a hand which forced the chamberlain to bow. 

"I hope you are happy Margaret, you have brought this on yourself." His words were soft as he whispered them, lips close enough to brush her ear. "I'll keep him quite safe, you need not worry about that." 

With those words she gulped, watching Henry, little Henry carried from the castle in the Yorkist King's arms. Tears left her eyes, he had known it so well. Death would never come of her treason, Henry would be the price she would pay for sins committed and crimes planned. She fell to her knee's when none could see, begging God for forgiveness and Edward for mercy. If only someone would make him stick to his word, then Henry would be safe and she free.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter to ease some peoples minds

_Dearest Margaret_   
_At first I believed it not to be true, yet now the evidence is over riding. How can it be my brother seeks so many beds but none do fancy him enough to have his bastard?_   
_So I know the babe was not his. My first born son to be killed, at the hand of the man we try prove no king but traitor._

It made for good reading at the least. Blots of ink at the paper made it harder, tear smudges of deep emotion. He persevered.

_I cry when I write this, for it is too much to bare. My hatred welling inside me. How could he?_   
_Lady mother sees nothing of his crimes; only yours. For it takes son to make a bastard child, as she might well know. Her bastard shames my house as we dally._   
_I have done your bidding, the king will soon be dead. Keep her away from him._   
_She will be the death of us all._   
_All my heart, your faithful lover, loyal servant._

_His Grace._   
_George R._

_Burn this._

Why had she not? Rare fury took him as the threw the later, gaining the attention of the boy who sat upon his bed cross legged, pawing over the book he could barely read. Edwards eyes landed on him in a moment of pure hatred. The child had done naught to warrant it, he sighed and tried to smile. The child simply stared, eyes fixed on the crumpled letter at the foot of the bed. His hand about to reach for it "Damn it Henry! How can you expect to read, expect to be a bishop or a knight or anything if you do not practise?"

"I'm sorry your grace." He turned back to the book, pausing as Edward took the letter from view. Sitting before the fire he began on the next one.

_My Lady Margaret_

_Edward is well, as well as you'd expect from his ordeal. History is repeating itself, no matter what I try he will not die. A continual nuisance. Yet the itch when scratched must be eliminated, not to manifest itself into a sword in my gut, waiting to leave before bleeding me dry._

_I see you trust Clarence no more with your duties; wise for I believe he slips my guest food. Against my command. After he and Anne, it cannot be allowed._

Anne.... His grip tightened, eyes involuntarily closed to see her face and long to touch her, to feel her breaths. It could not be. He wiped the tear before it would show. A month since he had left her at Middleham; a month of crying, of sleepless nights. A month where she plagued his sleep and wake. He had spent days where Elizabeth would beg him to speak as he thought of her, where his daughters would think he dead for his shock. He had left her, had hurt her. How?

He gulped, letting the next tear fall onto the paper. Not caring who saw or cared.

_My loyalty grows to Lancaster more as I write, as I am forced to endure the traitors presence, to hear him speak, to know he breaths. At your word I will end him, for I see not why a man so dangerous you wish to spare for so long._

_It was not like you loved him. If we could rid ourselves of Clarence too, for he is weak and Gloucester for his loyalty._

He read no more, smashing the delicate glass in his hand with force to gain Hastings' attention. The Chamberlain entered with care, seeing young Henry staring in horror, saw blood run down Edwards hand. No one moved, spoke or indeed breathed for that moment. It was Henry who broke the silence as he knelt by Edwards side. "My lord-"

"I have told you! I am not your father!" Edward winced as Henry backed away, his eyes glistening and lip offering the tremble which accompanied surpressed sobs. Edward reached for him, drawing him close in a gentle embrace, allowing the child upon his lap as Hastings tended to the gash on his hand in silence. "She betrayed me. She truly did and Warwick too. That brat, the one she says I killed, was mine? No matter how I prayed you were wrong William, te child was my brothers. My brothers!" They all heard the break in his voice, Henry nuzzled his cheek against soft shirt, making Edward smile for only a moment. "She is granted the son I am not and must confess, if I die-"

"Speak nothing of that."

"Will-"

"You did not die in Warwicks hands and will not now." He wrapped silk around the wound, pouring wine into pewter and handing it over letting Edward gulp it down. "Besides you knew of Warwicks betrayal-"

"Of my brother? And Warwick betrays my brother. I cannot leave him alone like a stag to be torn by warwick's hounds."

"I do not see why not, he betrays your grace." Henry spoke up once more, slipping from Edwards knee as the king shifted his weight, an amused smile toyed on the York kings lips.

"Ah Henry, your intentions are good, but thankfully you know nothing of politics. Run along now, I am sure some noblemans son is looking to play. Your reading can wait a night I am sure. I am mighty exhausted."

"Of course your grace." Henry bowed and turned to leave. Escorted by Hastings.

"Perhaps the lad will find another Lancastrian turn coat, your court seems full of them."

The goblet impacted the door as Hastings slammed it shut. "Damn you!" He slumped back in the chair laughing at his chamberlains humour. Of course he had not meant to insult, it was like Will to know what would make him laugh and when. He sighed, taking up a quill scribbling what he knew would be the letter he regretted.

_My Lord Warwick._

_I wish your return to court, full pardon and attendance of your daughters..._


	24. Chapter 24

The Palace of Westminster.

All eyes fixed upon the royal couple. Edward said nothing as Warwick, kneeling before him his head hung in shame muttered his apologies. No one spoke when the Earl had finished, no one breathed, nor dared so much as think as silence engulfed the room. "You apologise, my lord for treason, apologise and beg my forgiveness. Yet you are aware, are you not, that you did try kill me?"

"And was much misguided-"

"You would of course say that. You are no fool and you said the same to King Henry when I was but child. Never did I think you would say it to me. But very well." Edward sighed as Elizabeth's eyes bore into his neck, his head ached from the screaming of the night before; when he had told her of his plans to pardon Warwick and to take George back into his embrace as a brother, a friend. It was not to her liking, such he had learned quickly, but they would not call her a witch, the controller of her husband for nothing. The desire to rub his temples almost won, stopped by a worried look only a mother could offer as she rose, seeing to it herself that he sat.

"My son does, with great reluctance my lord of Warwick, accept your apologies for yourself and Neville kindred. Pay thanks for his mercies and let it never happen again, should your head line the walls of London if it does."

"I would want nothing less my lady." 

"Very well." Cecily Neville spoke in a cold tone, turning her attentions back to her son. Her hand gently cradling his head as he sighed, attentions still on the man who stood before them. "Now leave us Warwick." She watched as her nephew left the room, saw the look upon his young daughters face as Anne Neville paused in wonder, her eyes meeting Edward's before she turned with speed. If Cecily Neville had not known better, she would have sworn she saw hate rage through the girls eyes, saw sorrow meet Edward's handsome features, all before he winced as she rose him. "Come my son, to bed I think." The doawager duchess of York raised a hand, muttering a warning to Elizabeth as she tried to rise and following. "No, your grace, I think my son has had quite enough stress for one day." 

They restreated at Cecily's pace, despite Edward's pitiful objections; he made no effort to fight her as she walked nodding at his complaints. "I need no sleep ma-"

"Of course Edward, but you need space, room to be."

"I am king I should be out-"

"And all know you are king, you need not worry them with your presence when quite clearly son, you are less than well." She opened the door to his bedchamber, greeted by sweet smells brought alive by the burning fire,the faint crackle of flames licking wood to ashes. She watched him sit silently. wincing as he took the wine she poured. "Your father was much the same, never at his best with stress and you, I have never seen this side of you. Prey tell me, what ever plagues you Edward?"

He almost laughed, gulping down the wine. "The deaths of ten thousand men? A guilty conscience?" 

"Nonsense. No battle has plagued a Plantagenet since the dawn of time, so what else could blacken your mood?" She knelt on the floor looking up at him. "What happened at Middleham you are not telling me? I saw the look on Anne's face, saw the sorrow on yours. What happened between you and the Neville girl?"

"Mother-" He sighed, beginning to object, raising a hand to his head.

"No, you will not avoid this. You have been reckless with women, I beg you tell me, not her too?"

"No, not her. Not as you think."

"Did you-"

"No!" He stood quickly, pushing her hand away stepping toward the fire, watching the flames with tired eyes. "I think I love her."

"Anne Neville?" He did not reply, did not turn as she stood, approached to rest a gentle hand upon his shoulder. "You cannot Edward, you must not. You are married to the Woodville woman, and although I do not approve, I will not have you throw her away to take another woman who so easily you could shame. No, the Beaufort girl was enough; that displeased me you know. Not Elizabeth too."

"I would not, she is queen and mother of my children, no."

"And your brother, dear Richard, he wishes-"

"I care not." He turned sharply, looking at her with determined eyes. "For if both my brothers be married to Warwick's daughters I fear truly for my life. No, I cannot risk that Dickon be the fool George is, even half the fool dear George is."

"Edward!" 

"He would have been killed lady mother. Warwick would have killed him, and he knows little of this."

"You're sure?"

"All I wish, is that I were not."

 

 

"Check mate." Henry Tudor shouted with almost a little too much enthusiasm as Edward stared at the board, wonder written across his face. The young Lancastrian's hand reached for the ivory king, stopped as Edward's touched his. 

"Nay lad, don't try cheat me." He lifted a knight, took a L to the young man's bishop, seeing Henry's face drop. "You must not rush this Henry. It may come in use later. For a knight cannot win in battle if he does not show his patience, he must not rush but instead move carefully, for running all the way soon leads to his exhaustion, an exhausted man means death for all." Edward smiled, ruffling the boys hair as he looked over the board with scrutiny, desperate to win soon despite the advice of his king, his guardian. Edward simply sighed, letting the child take piece after piece with little defense offered. This afterall was a game of patience, of strategy, but mostly of fun. For the boy to win occasionally would do him no harm. He would never let the sword slip in the ring, never let the string slacken at the bow, but for the boy to win at a game on a board? No harm was done there. He hardly looked up as the door opened, watching Henry take one piece, another. "Hastings, whatever is it that you interrupt me now? Can you not see this is a time of peril?"

"Quite your grace, it seems young master Tudor may indeed win." He said it with wry humour, bowing before approaching, offering Henry a smile before whispering in Edward's ear. "Your grace, lady Anne Neville has arrived, to watch the young masters class."

"His class?" Edward raised an eyebrow, turning to his chamberlain, his remaining attentions used to lose a pawn.

"Yes your grace, you did promise him he could practice swordplay with yourself, as he did promise lady Anne she may watch." With his chamberlains words his hand did truly slip, his tactics fail as Henry moved his knight, so all remaining was the ivory king. Edward admitted defeat, flicking the piece to its side as he rose. 

"Come Henry, you need ready yourself."

"Yes your grace, and perhaps I could prove myself worthy." All paused as Henry reached the door, stopping himself as he looked back. "Perhaps I will beat you at this also." None did see the humour as the child ran off from view.


	25. Chapter 25

Margaret Beaufort watched in silence as Henry, dressed in half armour, approached the king and bowed. She tried to smile, tried to look proud as the young man said so boldly, so confident. "You need not slow yourself for me your grace." To which she saw Edward smile, he too drawing his sword before resting upon it listening to the terms of the dual. The first to draw blood would win, no unfair fighting nor help from another. The first man to draw blood or cause minor injury would be the victor. Her heart thudded, poor Henry... The York brat would not show her boy mercy, he would not show the boy fair treatment. He had refused to show her the mercy she deserved, the mercy which as Edward's wife she would deserve. She had been denied the right of a mother, to raise her child. Instead he remained in York's care, or so they called it. In Yorks grasps where he could be controlled; where so easily he could be played as punishment to her. For like no other Edward knew, the pain of dear Henry would be the agony of her. Yes. She knew it to be so, she had been brought back to Westminster, by order of the king only for his sadistic pleasure. Kept in fine apartments and offered luxuries only to tease her want, to taunt her to commit treason, to hate the brat more than already she did, and then he would take her son and dispatch him to the God who would otherwise see to his destiny. 

She tensed as a hand touched her shoulder, turning slowly to smile."Edmund." She curtsied to her cousin, her eyes breaking from his as she heard the first clink of metal brushing, crossing herself in silent prayer.

"He will not harm the boy Margaret, too much would be lost if he did."

"Then it shall be worse, he shall be raised a Yorkist? A Plantagenet, not a Tudor nor a Beaufort. Not even a Lancastrian."

"But he shall live. Is that not of importance?"

"I should rather he die with honour, die in Gods name than to be raised a York with no future." Her eyes moved to Elizabeth Woodville, the woman now holding the newest of the York infants, another girl as she cheered for her husband. As the princesses laughed and screamed in joy for their father. To the Neville's her eyes falling upon Warwick, the man whose letter had seen her son taken from her; the man she would never forgive, and by his side that smug brother of Edward's. The Duke of Clarence, staring back in cool contempt. "No cousin, it rates little of importance for Henry to live if he be under he crowns care and not my own."

"And the difference?" Somerset smiled, offered a clap as Henry's blade crossed Edward's armour. "It is not just fellow Lancastrian's who cheer hat you are truly queen. His Lord Warwick does agree, the Duchess of York too-"

"But Cecily hates me."

"It would seem you are the pick of her choice when compared to the witch."

"It does little surprise me."

"Even those closest to the King have muttered of the rightful queen, considered you his lawful wife."

"His Lord of Clarence, now that does not surprise me Edmund."

"The King's brother of Gloucester too, Lord Hastings I here also."

"The Lord Chamberlain? It cannot be so, William is steadfast to Edward. I can scarcely believe the man strong enough to break from Edward, nor hold his own opinions of the King's bedmates, especially if he should take his share."

"I think the witch is here to stay Margaret, and nothing we can say would have Edward see it otherwise." The crowd cheered as Henry's final sword thrust knocked the king's arm away, drawing blood upon his sword arm as the blade flew to the ground behind. Henry laughed as he was raised, held in Edward's arms as he himself cheered the boy. Margaret clapped with silent pride. 

"No, we must put an end to this. I will not have Henry be a slave for York."

"I see not what we can do dear cousin." 

"I do." She turned to walk, stopping as they gained distance from the crowd. "If Edward were to have cause to fight, mayhap with God's will he would die in battle."

"We could not ensure that."

"I trust it to you Edmund, that it should be ensured." With her words she left, feet tapping on the floor in heavy steps of anger as she entered the palace without a care.

 

 

"Lady Anne." Richard smiled as he approached, bowing to her at a whim. She smiled, paused from nerves handing the jug of water to a passing maid and linen to a seemsteress. "The day is fine, why be you cooped inside like a chicken in a barn? Com, we should walk the grounds before this afternoons audience."

"Audience?"

"With his grace, the king."

"I have no such audie-"

"That is part the reason I searched for you, my brother does ask you join him after the midday feast."

"And if I decline?" She said the words, suppressing tears as she did. Beginning to walk with Richard by her side, looking to him with affection. She could not deny he was a handsome man, Isabel had so many times said he was not so handsome, not compared to his brothers. Yet Richard was noble, a quality she found lacking in the older York's, noble and loyal, true to his heart and to God. Chivalrous and polite, he would do nothing to hurt her nor any like her. His dark hair shone as the sun fell upon it through the windows above their heads, reflecting a halo would above and angel. Once unnoticed muscles now prominent in his physique, sharp features and strong eyes held her attention to his face. She shivered as his hands touched hers, holding her as he smiled. 

"I think his grace would be most displeased." 

"Then I am sorry to disappoint him, but our king will not see me this afternoon."

"It is of matters of importance lady Anne."

"And they will have to wait."

"He has-" Richard stopped his words as Anne stopped her walking, her skin draining of its colour as the familiar voice greeted them. Her hand shot to her neck, against her control, rubbing the faint pink line which still remained. 

"Dickon. I thank you for your loyalty, but I would not force her to see me. I know my sins even if I have repented, and wished only to beg forgiveness from the subject is mistreated so carelessly. But I shall not make her see me." His eyes turned to her, he offered a bow,took her hand and kissed it. Sighing as she tensed, her hand connecting with his cheek. Richard stepped forward, stopped by a look as Edward stood properly. "It is less than I deserve dear brother. But my heart aches that she would feel to express it. I beg forgivnes Lady Anne. If only you could find it in your heart." With that she broke away, storming down the corridor with Richard at her tail.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys. It took a whole to update, rubbish chapter I know. I've had problem after problem this week :/

Swans swam, birds chirped and winds rustled the leaves on the trees. Anne Neville sat alone, looking at the water as the sun gleaned off it, like gold ripples in the Thames. She tried to smile, a futile effort, for there was nothing to smile about. No, she could not smile for no matter how she tried she could never rid herself of those terrible thoughts. Had he brought here so he could torture her, to dangle her dreams before her nose to snatch them back so quickly she felt her heart quiver. Each time she saw that man she felt the bitterest of hate. Hate masking all else. 

She hated Westminster, the place of so many peoples dreams. The home of her nightmares. The place no being was permitted to e alone, where gossip thrived and plots are rife. She stopped her thoughts, hearing that voice calling her name. "Anne!" She knew in an instant, with no need to turn who that voice belonged to. She smiled and Richard wrapped his arms around her pulling her back so both sat upon the grass, her upon his lap, her head rested on his shoulder. "I have been looking for you all morning."

"I willed to be away."

Richard nodded, looking around, wide eyes and a smile upon his face. His eyes fixing on the big oak beside them. "It reminds me of my infancy. Before it all began." He paused, took a moment to reminisce before continuing. "Ned, Edmund and I. We all used to go and sit in places much similar to this. When they were not too busy fighting, whoring or getting themselves in trouble." He paused. "Edmund was strict but he taught me much, how to climb trees. Have you ever climbed a tree?" 

"No, I'd very much like to." She looked up as he rose. Walking her to the tree. "Put your hand there. No, there. Yep, and that one there. This foot here and that one there. Now grab that branch." He was beside her in a moment, she smiled as they climbed further, all of London in their view. She sighed, looking over the courtyard of the palace to see the men mounting there horses, Edward chief among them, shouting orders she could barely hear. "Ah yes, my brother the king goes on campaign once more."

"You do not go with him?" She looked to him, seeing his smile. Somehow he reassured her simply by his look. 

"No, I was granted leave for a chill. It displeased him I dare say. But he is not one to dwell. He will forget my absence in the morrow of a night of good drinking and an active bed partner." Anne scoffed forcing Richard to laugh. "Lady Anne, to hate my brother as you do will bring you no good fortune. It is treason to hate the king. It is for you Edward has not taken the life of your good father." 

"And George?"

"George is of close blood, Edward will not kill his own brother." 

"He seemed right capable of it."

"Fear does to men what no other can." Richard wrapped his arms around her pulling her close. 

"We should not be so close, you are spoken for."

"What?"

"you are betroth-"

"Oh to a French princess, it shattered soon after Warwicks betrayal. I am free to hold you. Free to-" she looked back, followed the gaze of Richards eyes only to shudder. Edward was looking straight at them, a smile upon on his face as though he could see them. For one chilling moment, she thought he actually could. 

 

 

Elizabeth Woodville sat, her ladies gathered around, each drinking wine and each gossiping of court affairs. "And lord Hastings again takes-"

"Catherine silence." 

"I am sorry your grace." 

Elizabeth listened to the words. Words which suddenly fell silent as the doors burst open. She stood quickly as her husband entered. "Edward." She almost shuddered as he stepped close. Ale and brandy stained his breath, his face cooling from the anger which had clearly taken him before. "Ladies, leave us." She wrapped a gentle arm around his waist, smiled as he took it, pulling her closer. Devouring her lips as often he did, his hand toying at her bodice. She stopped it breaking the kiss. "Tell me what bothers you my lord." 

"I wish not to talk of it, not now wife. I come to see you not for talk of politics."

"It is Warwick is it not?"

"He fled this night last." 

"But his girl." She silenced herself as Edward looked up questioningly. Her heart hammered, had she just signed the girls death warrant? How had he not known Anne Neville's presence at Westminster? "You were Anne Neville is at Westminster?" 

With those words he was away from her. "Hastings! Find her!" Both men set off in opposite directions to find the last thing Warwick had in England.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are getting shorter. I've been a little preoccupied. So sorry

Little girls are born stronger than an army of warriors; expected to be stronger than the greatest kings. We will do this all without complaint.

Cecily Neville's words now rang true. Anne Neville knew it as she watched the little girl in her bed, the father of this innocent child stricken with grief at her weakened state. Little Bess just coughed as her father lifted her, holding her to him and rocking. She had not expected to see this upon entering the room. When she had asked lord Hastings if she was well to enter, and he had held the door open for her, she had not expected to see Edwards eyes stained red from crying. She laid the linen down silently, gulping as his hand touched hers. "Lady Anne." His voice was weak, strained and shaking like the hand he held her with. "A physician-"

"Has been sent for your grace I see no more I can do." She tried to pull away, shuddering as his hand tightened, pulled her closer so she upon the feather mattress. 

"I fear for her Anne, like I fear for none other. My sweet Bess and if I lose her?" He laid the child back on her bed, kissing her forehead wiping blond hair away. "Such a kind child, a princely child and none know a thing of how to help her." 

"And your grace thinks I may know?"

"Heavens no child. But you are innocent, and above all you are good of heart and thought. You would see me like this and tell none." 

Anne smiled, unable to control herself as she stroked the kings hand with her own. "Has your grace tried tisanes? Herbs and bleedings?"

"All the common remedies." He once again stroked the princess' hair. Wiping eyes as she offered a cough. He looked to Anne. "None do seem to help her." 

"Poor child." She stood walking to the girl kneeling beside her, taking her hand. She followed the checks the doctors had, each finding no reason for the girls illness. "Does your grace mind if we move the girl. Perhaps to your royal chambers?"

"Of course. But what good it will do-" he stopped, seeing the stains upon the sheets. "From poison?" 

"I fear so." She lifted Elizabeth from the bed, rocking the girl as she began to whimper, following Edwards lead around the palace. It was just minutes before they reached his chamber. Laying the child on the kings own bed she held up a hand, stopping him as he approached the princess. "She needs sleep your grace." Her hand against her control stroked his doublet. His eyebrow rose, though he said nothing. Sitting on the floor beside a burning fire, she joined him, eyes never leaving the princess. "Your grace, I beg pardon should I exceed my right." He said nothing, but nodded, his eyes looking up to meet hers. "You have for days seemed lost in tension. Yesterday I heard your distress. Whatever has happened to upset you so?"

"Do you love lord Warwick Anne?"

"I do. Of course I do."

"So did I. Yet he forces my hand in ways that cannot be called pleasing." He sighed looking at her with eyes dark with grief. "You are the Neville I can truly trust." He reached for her hands taking them, gently kissing fingers. "Yet I cannot keep you here, your father calls for you in France and who am I to stop him? To stop you." 

"He calls?" She watched as the king nodded and released her hands. 

"He ever writes to Margaret and emplores her to get you free and to France." 

"I see not why."

"For there stands great marriage. Edward of Lancaster awaits, he needs not tell for me to know. You are a porn in his game and a queen in mine. I see not how he could so willingly marry you to the insolent brat. He will not treat you with kindness."

"Surely you could stop me going?"

"Yes Anne, I could make my prisoner. But I shall not." He looked to little Elisabeth as she slept in his bed, coughing occasionally. Looked to his chamberlain as the doors opened. "That is all lady Anne you may leave." 

They watched her trail silently from the room. Edward sighed. "Hastings. Have all things made prepared, let's stop the war before it starts. She is to join her family in France."


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short - and rubbish. I will update it later. I had a spare half an hour before work. So :) You all got a little update!

"The Neville girl has left." Men walked passed with voices louder than Edward cared for. Each talking their own various accounts of how these things had come to be; of how Anne Neville had fallen from the Kings favour and left for France last week. None did pay him attention, as he sat quietly, his cap pulled down enough for his face to be engulfed in shadow. Today he had felt less than happy, less than motivated in his morning dress routine. All of Wills enthusiasm had not made him dress as a king should that morning. All the chamberlains optimism has served only to infuriate Edward. That had forced him here. God, how rare it was that William, his life long friend, his most loyal subject could rub his nerves so raw, could dissolved his patience so easily. The wonder was he could, and Edward had never even known it.   
  
"She left to marry the Prince I hear." At that Edward scoffed, earning himself a look of disgust from the man who passed him. A look that his opinion was not wanted nor needed, that he would be better off tending to some chores which needed doing. Edward smiled, showing teeth the white of ivory, the man blushed and bowed but said nothing. That was all it took. he sighed, how boring it could be to be king; how people flocked to your word, rushed to do your order and were so very afraid to offer up and opinion. Like he would cut their head off simply for having a tongue. What did his court assume him to be? had the Beaufort word spread so quickly that now he was to be deemed a merciless monster by all those who daily surrounded him? Was he to be seen as heartless to those whom he had granted pardons to at Towton? Most likely, should the duke of Somerset get word out, or that Welsh born bastard Jasper Tudor. 

None did see it, his pain and suffering. None did see what pain they all caused him. None had caused such pain as that sweet girl. To send her to her father was to send her to her death, and he had known it. The Lancaster Prince would not show her mercy, he would not think to be kind to her. She would become his wife in name and deed but not treatment. No, he would call her his wife and take her to his bed, but never would she see a gentle smile, a kind word. She would be his slave and there was no more to it. Warwick was a fool, a Yorkist pardon could well have been arranged, yet he had begged to the Lancastrian Queen, the bitch who had seen his father killed. The bitch he had sworn to avenge before forgive. A promise he would always stick to. Yet Warwick had grown so bitter, so desperate for his power that he had betrayed the House of York so utterly, and it burnt. The taste was bitter. Worse yet, he had begged the Lancastrian queen and swore a marriage to the satanic prince, he had promised his daughter to a life of suffering and all for spite.   
  
Edward sighed and rose. Walking slowly as he looked out of the windows onto the London scenery. Poor Anne, he could not help the words spinning around his head. It was nauseating, sickening and melancholic. He shuddered, stopped to use the wall as a support. He gained looks, dismissing each with a hand before he inhaled deeply. Like it would do some good, did he think he could swallow away the pain which came with her name? He had been the one to send her. No matter how he hated Warwick, no matter how he blamed the rebel earl for his will to marry the beautiful girl to the devil himself he could not help but scold himself. he could have kept her in England, he should have kept her close. But he did not. Why did  he feel as much to blame as Richard Neville?   
  
He looked up as a woman approached, groaning in displeasure as he saw the face of Margaret Beaufort. She curtsied with politeness, handing him parchment. "It came this morn, first thing. Lord Hastings has been trying to find you, but you evade all as though you were a ghost."  
  
"Perhaps I aimed for as much." His words were cold, sharp from his tongue. He fell silent as he opened the parchment, reading the words.

 

_Brother_   
  
_It is done. I thought perhaps Warwick had gone mad, that he would falter before he would marry her to that boy. He did not, and now they are wed. Lancaster and Neville, you best prepare. Isabel brought word from London, that you would rejoice at our reunion. God knows you tempt me brother. I see not how I could decline, escape from France would be nigh on impossible. Much less without raising Anjou's suspicions. You want not a war which is not duly prepared. I am sure our brother of Gloucester will be most peeved about this discovery, mayhap i should leave it for you to tell him. Maybe a familiar tongue will help him._   
_I will gather men in the name of Neville, upon the battlefield I will turn to York._   
_God save you brother and serve you well._   
_Let victory fall to us, else shall we pray God has mercy upon us._   
  
_George, Duke of Clarence._   
_Your brother and subject, always._

 

He threw the letter, how very convenient. How George could choose his sides to benefit him. Edward felt the anger now familiar when he thought of George. His brother was a traitor, now a turncoat and a coward. He shuddered at the thought beginning to walk. "Margaret, I will need Henry. It seems your queen will make her return, all much sooner than I would like."   
  
Margaret heard his words, feeling the chill rush through her. He could not take Henry, surely he could not?


	29. Chapter 29

"Shhh" she kissed his skin as her hands explored, caressing each inch available to her touch. Her fingers burnt his flesh, he said nothing but sighed with pleasure as she gently rubbed his back. The fire burned, crackles occasionally filled the air. "You have been so tense my lord." 

"Dear wife." He smiled, hearing her voice as she rubbed the tension from each muscle. "Why do the English plague me so?" He whimpered, hushed as she kissed tender skin. "Hmmmm. I am trapped between France and Spain and now England forces her hand upon me and I must I choose. Your brother falls to crisis most inconveniently dear wife." 

"Ever is so with Ned my lord. But this is not about him, rather about you. All about you." She kissed his lips as he rolled, his hands resting on well shaped hips. 

"You look like an angel in the firelight." He smiled at her blush, sitting pushing the silk from her delicate shoulders, fingers stroking at her breasts. All he wanted was to be allowed, just once to forget it all. She knew it well as his hands moved south, sending with them deep trails of burning pleasure. 

 

After their passions demise the duke and duchess of Burgundy lay silent in each other's arms. Her head rested on his chest, rising and falling with each breath. She heard his heart thud deep within his chest. Her hand drew gentle circles at his navel. "Charles." His reply came in a happy sigh, allowing her to speak where many husbands wished only sleep. "Charles I know you wish not to, but I beg you. See my brother. Dickon wrote me this week and said he was most unwell." 

"Margaret, my love I will send a physician in the morrow. But now, right now god nor satan could not help the man. I am exhausted and your brother could do nothing to rouse me from my bed now." 

 

The dukes predictions proved incorrect. Minutes after he had uttered those words the doors had opened to fifty rushing servants. Panicked cries had filled his ears. After hurrying to dress he had heard the story with less than high mood. "The fool!" Charles stormed from the room leaving Margaret alone with her brother. 

"Richard. Oh Richard. What happened and what brings you here?" She raced to his side, using a handkerchief to wipe his tears. "Oh Dickon whatever makes you cry? Is it Ned? Dear god is he-"

"He lives sister, for how long I cannot tell.  
For it was Tuesday he told Monsieur le Gruithund he would eat nothing."

"He cannot surly have-" she had no need to finish her sentence, silenced as she heard her husbands shouts. 

"Bring him in! quickly now and into a chamber. Damn him!" He had stormed back to the bedroom. "He is devoid of his senses. You lad! You lead him to it?"

"Charles!" Margaret wrapped her arms around her youngest brother. "He did nothing of the sorts. If any man did something it was you. God knows Ned begged to see you. You refused and now he declares he shall fast until you see him." 

 

It had taken months, begging, money and a half dead Englishman in his bed to make Charles of Burgundy have audience with the English king. Margaret of Burgundy rushed inside her brothers chamber, a tray in her hand. She barged passed the men surrounding the bed. "Dickon, will, hold him." She lifted a soup filled spoon, sighing as her brothers hand knocked it flying to the floor. "Edward! Do you think I will not force this down your throat? I care not if you choke. You will eat. For it cannot be so bad that you will not." She fought to get each spoonful in his mouth. Clearing the room of men when she had finished. "Ned my husband had agreed to see you, your son was born the week last, whatever brings you to this?" She watched in shock as he began to cry, watching tears fall like raindrops from his eyes. 

"Margaret, I have made mistakes."

"Ned we all have, I would have trusted your word about Charles if I could go back and spare us a row."

"No, sister oh sweet sister. I have committed sins unforgivable and this is punishment."

"Ned I am no priest, but your confessions I can pray for and will take with me to the grave."

"What does a man do when he has two wives?"

"But the annulment-" she said nothing as she looked up in complete shock. Her lips moved but noise failed her. She mouthed the words "my god" crossing herself each moment she did. Rising quickly she headed toward the door. "Ned, I pray you do not tell our mother, for Elizabeth was always a whore to her. Your children will be bastards and the Lancastrian? You do not want her to know, she is still your queen and wife."


	30. Chapter 30

"He is gone? You are sure?" The duke of Somerset looked into his cousins eyes. For a moment he could have kissed her, as she delivered to him the news he so desperately wanted to hear. The York bastard had fled. The true king could return to England's throne. But then he had seen it. The flash of pain as she nodded. "You do not pine for him of all men? Margaret he discarded you like a used handkerchief or plaything which served him not further purpose. You cannot truly feel pain at his departure?"

"Edmund, he was chased. His head will be removed from his shoulders and he shall be quartered. Richard too if they are caught. They have no where to go, except beg help in burgundy and Henry is with them. So if you think I pine for my husband then you are correct because god damn it e may have shown cruelty, but he has shown me love like no other. He has spared my boy so far, your true king will see him hung like a peasant." 

"Margaret-" he stopped, reaching for her arm but grabbing air as she fled. He cursed, striking the wall in anger to stop his need to follow her, to stop his need to comfort her as he heard her sob. 

 

 

Burgundy.

"As she does dance around the tree, my heart it surely beats for the-"

"Now Henry." The child looked up as the beautiful woman spoke. She was pretty as an angel he knew, blond hair and blue eyes. A Plantagenet by birth. Yet he knew her not. Since they had arrived in this strange country he had been taken from the king. Now Edward had deserted him and he was alone. He smiled, looking to her with the respect owed to the duchess of Burgundy. "Henry you do not annunciate dear boy. However you made it in the English court is beyond me. You shan't make it in burgundy if you cannot pronounce your words correct-" she sighed and looked up, "what is it Fiona for I truly tire of your pointless expeditions into my presence. You achieve naught." 

"But madam it concerns your brother." 

"If Ned begs to see my husband tell him he wastes his time, the duke shall not see him." She clapped her hands and turned back to Henry. "So pronounce it properly else I may be forced to have Mary come and teach you. What is it Fiona?"

"It is your brother of Gloucester madam. Not England's usurp-" the woman cried out as a hand bruised her cheek. The heavy steps which accompanied the hand made her shiver. 

"Do not insult your better mistress Fiona. For it suits you not. Be he traitor in England or king of it, he is noble birth and seeks sanctuary in our good country. Make him not regret such a decision." 

"As you have done in making him such a free man husband?" Margaret of Burgundy felt not need to look up as she offered her husband rich sarcasm. She knew he would smile, would approach her. She felt his hand upon her breast, then his breath upon her neck. She shuddered in delight and turned to kiss him, devouring his lips before she heard his divine accent. His lips so close to hers, the words sent vibrations through her. "Forgive me dear wife, but your brother must be supervised." 

"As though he is child likely to choke?"

Charles laughed and kissed her hand. "Rather a youth with a reckless desire, his ambitions would harm him if I were to allow them to." 

"And you my lord shall be his knight? His champion and he a fair maidan? Can he not make his own decisions? For it he who is harmed not you not I."

"And this boy we take into our care?" The duke regarded Henry for just a moment. 

"The boy is safe. Ned will surely not risk him." 

"I hear your brother the duke of Gloucester begs to see me, to what do I owe the honour?" 

"I am clueless my lord. Monsieur le Gruithund perhaps did not keep them packed as goods to ignore, as my husband have pleased." 

"Damn it you make your point woman!" For a moment all but Margaret jumped, as she stared into the eyes others thought raging with anger. She saw only passion, and smiled. "But I will not see him today my sweet Margaret, I cannot. For I need time to think before I should see either brother of yours. Ned is fool, he has not grown wiser since our days in Normandy, and Gloucester has not had the days we had in Normandy. Sweet wife one brother is a babe and the other too soon to abandon his youth. Sometimes I swear England better run by a mad man." 

It was then all others smiled. No other but Margaret saw the stress so obvious across her husbands face.

 

 

"I cannot leave the manor? Monsieur how long are you to keep me couped like a dog?" Edward sighed, pushing away the irony as his hand worked against his control to tickle the ear of a dog more free to roam than he was. 

"I am sorry my lord but-"

"My lord?" Edwards eyes grew wide with shock as he stood quickly at the unexpected demotion. "My lord?" 

"Again, apologies but word has come from your brother the duke. He wishes we call you by your proper title as earl of March." 

"You must jest?" He waited a moment, the man spoke nothing to confirm it. Edward sighed slumping back in a chair, hugging the dog as it licked his face. "I am not even entitled to my duchy? But to stripped of all until I am no more than a beggar living off your courtesy? Oh he has planned this so carefully. The whoreson."

"Sir speak not of his grace your brother-"

"He is no brother of mine, I doubt Margaret is still of my blood! She would not abandon me so." 

"You are not alone sir. Be thankful of that. For you are safe and warm with a belly full of food and wine. You could fair much worse Monsieur." 

"Aye. I could be told I have to spend another night with your company."

"Alas my lord you do." Edward sighed looking to Richard as he walked in. The young man shook his head, watching as his brother curled, fitting in a chair as he should not have. A noise of sad frustration left the kings mouth. None said a word but all knew it to be true. If they did not see the duke soon, Edward would take burgundy to win back his throne. Else thought Richard, god help them all. For if Edward was to whither, his will to fade, then they would forever be stuck here in this hell, begging for help like peasants. It was truly pitiful.


	31. Chapter 31

Anne Neville shook, each inch of her trembled against her control. How could this have happened? Just weeks ago she had been the focus of the royal court, then she had been sent away to France and now? Now he was wed to a monster. She shuddered as his cold eyes took her in, merciless. Already he had hurt her, already she was to be his servant, completely and silently bend to his whim. Whatever that may be.   
How could this have happened to her? How could he have let it happen? 

She watched the townsfolk out of the window, so wishing she could for a moment join them. Wishing her husband had not ordered her locked inside like a prisoner. Her mind wandered, always finding ways to entertain herself. Finding logic behind her situation and most importantly, finding people to blame so that she would be innocent with it all. 

Her father was the obvious one, the bad queen also. There was no shortage of blame to be laid at at their door. But her heart reached it's hatred to another, for her father she could not hate and the bad queen would offer to mercy on the matter. She had been the English kings prisoner. If Edward had kept her at Westminster, had refused to bend to her fathers demand then she would be unmarried. She could be free to make her own decisions. 

"Anne." She turned to face her husband. Seeing a rare but cruel smile upon his face as he rose. She curtsied, trembling as he took a lock of honey brown hair and twirled it pulling her to him harshly, suddenly. She whimpered as it forced her joints to crack. Aching set in suddenly. She gulped and tried to move away as his hand took hold of her waist. She closed her eyes a braced the slap, the second also. "Do you resent me so much?" 

Her eyes opened to look over the spoilt Lancastrian. A prince by name and presence, but not a king. She noted it silently, he could never be a king. For kings were merciful, kings were generous, warriors but heros, powerful but chivalrous. She shuddered, or they had been. She took her mind from the York king in exile, pushed aside the hatred burning inside of her. She almost laughed, why was he the man she was able to hate so easily? More so than her husband. Her childhood mentor, her friend, her prisoner and now, her gravest enemy. Of course, marguerite de Anjou had seen to it that the girl knew. York was the enemy, they showed no mercy for woman nor child. With it too she had piled off Edwards secrets, Richards also. Secrets Anne had cringed to hear. It had been so easy to let the hatred grow for the man who shared her husbands name, but no matter how she tried she could not hate Richard. 

Not gentle Richard.

She cried out as he slapped her again, realising her mistake. She had missed over half his sentence, had not responded the moment he had wanted her to and she would suffer for it she knew. He grabbed her hair, pulling her. Servants watched with silent horror as he dragged her to a windowless room throwing her down. "And here you shall stay with the dark and yourself for company until you learn to be appreciative." The rest was lost in a babble of French she did not want to understand. 

 

 

"Monsieur you look exhausted." Charles of Burgundy did not laugh his normal vibrant laugh as he took his chair opposite England's dethroned king. Yet a smile formed on his lips as he looked over his brother by marriage. Edward seemed tired, run down by sickness or wealth of wine, of which he was unsure. His eyes were red and skin pale, his posture one of a man in pain. "Edward, my lord, I am glad you found refreshment here last night." the duke smiled before adding in elaborate Flemmish "and hope you do not ask the same tonight." The servants laughed, Edwards head rose as he looked to the duke. He said nothing before looking back down. 

Charles gulped. Surely the man did not understand Flemmish? He had chosen it for such a reason. He shuddered, but if he had this could spell burgundys doom. For France and Spain would not cease their pressure, but England was the real power he knew. The force which would see burgundy free and he, Charles, a king. If he had offended Edward now, their cause was lost. "Charles, I would appreciate you speaking tongue I have chance of understanding."  
He spoke Latin, Latin with an Englishmans accent. Charles smiled, this time laughing. 

"Please Monsieur my servants understand no English. Do not place shame on the holy language. It suits not the English." Edward too laughed, ordering wine in French, which Charles corrected. "Now, my wife says you have an order." 

"A request."

"No, she says order." Charles leaned forward, a wry smile invading his lips. "I am inclined to believe her, for if your mother is the same then an order it shall be. I doubt the duchess of York has made a request in her life."

At that Edward laughed. "She has not, but she has made a plea, that is what I have come to make." 

"You have come to beg?" Charles almost stammered, falling silent as wine was poured for them both, watching as the Englishman drank. "Beg away my friend, what is it that you beg for?"

"5000 Burgundian men, and a thousand archers."

"You want an army?" He took the kings silence as an affirmation. "Impossible." 

"Ah my dear friend. I think it might be possible." Edward smiled and Charles knew, he would give up to this man before noon. 

Damn him, truly damn him and his persuasion. Margaret had asked him why he did not trust the English. This man showed now just why.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me! I hve a plan!

"Cruelty lies at the hands of Edward of York." Anne's attention awoke to the sound of the French accent. Heavy, thick, yet womanly and elegant. She looked up from the table where she had been toying with food barely edible in nature. "He cannot be shown mercy." Anne smiled, trying to look polite through the desire to laugh with misery. How stupid this woman was, claiming the York king was cruel, that he would not show mercy. Mayhap it was true, and Ned would show them no mercy. But so far as Anne had seen, it was seldom the occasion that Edward Plantagenet, newly uncrowned king took pleasure in cruelty, that he would deny mercy to those deserving. And Margaret of Anjou was far from deserving. 

No, the woman was a fool. To complain of Yorkist cruelty whilst neglecting the pure evil which pulsed through her sons veins. She scratched the bruise at her arm, biting back a whimper. The old queen looked to her, she smiled once more and turned back to her food. "You found them? Truly?" 

"Yes your grace. Scurrying out of France with a hundred men soon to be killed for treason. King Louis offered them to yourself, a present he calls it. For you would rejoice he knew."

"Impossible." The French woman stood, shaking her head in apparent disbelief. The savour had granted her a holy chance, had offered her hope in place of misery. 

"I tell you it is not." The man tried desperately. He sounded like a child thought Anne: a child pleading with an adult for the sweet meats he wanted, or for belief that he was not to blame for his brothers crimes. 

"Where are they?" 

"With the prince your grace. He wishes to know of the action he should take. Should he kill them?" 

"Oui. Wait! Non! He should not, Gloucester bring him to me. Kill the rest. Slowly. Spare them no mercy." 

"Madam." The man bowed, leaving quickly. Anne looked up. They had caught Richard? They were bring him here? She gulped pushing the food away. Suddenly she felt her stomach churn. Another spoonful and she would surely vomit. 

 

 

She thought of it with delight. As Richard of Gloucester walked, hands bound by chains, into her view. By now he was alone in the world, as good as abandoned in France, his family far away, unreachable. She smiled as the boy knelt before her. How young he was, no older than her son and baring every Plantagenet resemblance. His clothes were dull, but noble even if made for another man. "My lord of Gloucester. How wonderful to see you finally. I have heard much about you." She stepped down the steps closer to her prisoner. "Anne has told me everything. Isn't she a sweetheart?" She saw the boy tense as smiled with satisfaction. "But that is not why I brought you here." 

She watched him look up, dark eyes pleading. "No, I brought you here because, I have a proposal." She tilted his head with two fingers. "You probably want to replace your brother as much as his lord of Clarence. Much better you would be for the job too."

"I'd rather die."

"Oh it can be arranged. You would of course have to watch dear Edward die before you, and embrace your demise in his blood, his screams still ringing in your ears." She watched the colour drain from the dukes face. 

His voice trembled as he spoke, he knew it well. Tried in a futile attempt to hide it. "He is already dead!"

"Is that what you think?" 

"They took him to Paris. A stronghold where they will kill him."

"When I choose."she smiled. "And how I choose. And that depends on your answer. A day or a week, it makes no difference to me, the block or the noose, painless or in agony. It makes no difference to me my lord. I cannot allow him to live, but you can reconcile and see him comfortable before he meets god." She saw the boy wipe a tear. Smiled. "I could even spare him long enough to have him serve in my household. He was always good at that. Polite and sweet. Alas, small boys must grow." She saw the look on Gloucesters face and sighed. "I see he neglected to tell you of that. You were not even born, Clarence was but a babe. And Edward? I would have thought he could be my own boy. It was before I had my son. All the same, that sweet child now plots my demise. As he sits awaiting his fate in a dungeon." She walked around Richard, her hand touching his cheek, she felt him shiver. "Just think of him, cold, chained and confused, hungry, tired and pained from the bruises I am sure my son gave him. His own cries what keep company, as he thinks of a son he will never see. All before the horrific death that will await him. Hung and quartered, or maybe burning at the stake." She heard the sob and tasted sweet satisfaction. "Now you see why he is alive. Your brother is a much better bargaining took whilst he breathes."

"What do you want?" Richard spoke in barely a whisper. 

"It's simple. Swear loyalty to Lancaster, I will make you rich beyond your wildest dreams."

"And Edward?" 

"He will be spared such humiliation."

"How can I assist your grace?" Richard rose at her command, accepting her embrace as the chains slipped from his hands. What would Ned do when he found out? He had signed for Lancaster.


	33. Chapter 33

**Westminster Abbey**

"Mother!" Elizabeth Woodville marched through the door, blue eyes of ice falling on Margaret Beaufort. The woman almost dropped the infant sleeping in her arms. The queen caught the child, glaring at the woman, continuing her trajectory. "Mother is it true? Do you know, my husband, he has been caught in Frnace?"  
  
"Alas daughter, if what I hear is so, he is under the guard of Margaret of Anjou,  he will likely be dead already, or by dawn if he is not already."  
  
Margaret stopped, her world stopped. She felt an emotion akin to Elizabeth. Seeing the woman, the beautiful woman with golden locks, blue eyes and snow white skin. For once, for the first time she understood this woman, understood the witches pain. She watched as the queen fell to her knees, tears flowing like rivers from her eyes, sobs shaking her body, each inch retching as she gave to the grief she felt deep inside her. Margaret knew her heart was breaking, knew this woman, this insufferable whore was truly in love with the man she herself had married, knew she was so dedicated to the Yorkist brat that right now, above anything she longed not to love. She had not known it, until this agony, until this pain set in so deep that she felt she would not breathe, felt her life would end. He did not deserve this, he did not deserve to die.   
  
Not at the hands of Margaret of Anjou.

 

Not when he had never wanted to be king. Her mind flashed back, running over the events so soon after Wakefield. When she herself had pushed for him to be king. Pushed him, and now he would die as a traitor, be murdered in cold blood for a crime he did not willingly commit. He would be killed for his usurpation of the English throne. A prize which had so far given him more trouble than any benefit it could hope to offer. She wiped her eyes, turning from the women even as they beckoned her to help. She could not run to the assistance of the woman who had usurped her own place, who had stolen her husband. The man she had been raised to hate; the man she had learned to love. The man she now enjoyed loving.   
  
All that existed, as numbness took over, was the undying hate which remained. An undying hate for Elizabeth Woodvile. A hate which would not go away so long as the fake queen cried upon the floor. Cried tears of a love so genuine it could be her own. And then there was a resentment so deep it attacked her insides, attacked each inch as she tried to fight it. A resentment for the boy the dowager duchess of Bedford now held in her arms. The young 'prince' she would never call his grace, the prince that Edward would have loved so much, the prince he would have loved more than dearest Henry. The prince who would replace her son, and maybe spell out his death. God knew the Woodvilles had already fought for that. 

 

But none of them would understand her pain. None of them would understand that she could ever feel pain for Edward of York. No one would be allowed to know that really, she truly felt the pain Elizabeth's pain. A pain that ran deep, a pain that cut into the heart, the brain, the lung.... a pain that filled the blood stream so the blood burned as it ran through the veins. A pain no one, a pain nothing could stop. It was the only thing that gave her any form of common ground with that witch, the commoner who claimed herself to be queen of England. The only difference was, she had felt it twice; once now, and once when he had told her, he wished her out of his life.   
  
It was as though, she had lost Edward twice. 

 

 

 

 

**Baynards Castle, London.**

It was unbarable. Cecily Neville weezed, trying to catch her breath as her chest ached. Crying she knew had never suited her. Yet she could not help it, not now. Richard had joined Lancaster, Edward was to be killed. Burning.... Of all the ways the witch could have chosen, she would burn him. Had she not taken from him enough? She thought of those year ago, when fear had taken her as it did now. When she had heard he had been committed to the Tower of London, been accused of treason, when she had thought that he would be put to death, at least he would die in his torture. And the fear she had felt again, when Lord Warwick - her own nephew - had taken him as prisoner, both times he had been mistreated, but both times he had been lucky. Her heart cried out for him. For this time, she felt he could not be so lucky. 

 

No this time the bitch of Anjou would have her way.   
  
The French whore would have taken her husband, would have taken Edmund and now... Now she would take Edward, dear sweet Edward. She would take Englands rightful king and take with it his life, and worse still. She would rejoice at the last breath to leave her sons lungs. She would celebrate, and dance to his screams, which would be music to her sadistic ears.

 

That was something Cecily Neville could never forgive. Worse, George, Richard and Warwick were the reasons this had happened. How could she ever forgive them, how could she ever recover, how could she ignore this betrayal?


	34. Chapter 34

"Richard! Richard!" Edward ignored the man as he slammed the staff of his spear against the door. "Where is my brother the duke of Gloucester? What have you done with-"

"Silence!" The guard shouted, his French accent slurring what he said. 

"I am Edward Plantagenet, earl of March, duke of York and king of England. You will tell me where-"

"Have silence you foul creature." He recognised the voice immediately, sighing as his captured fellows bowed as she walked around the corner. Her eyes fixed on Anthony Woodville before they focused on Edward. "Your brother has made the right decision, as I come to offer your friends here a chance to do. Join Lancaster, your king has brought his demise upon himself but you need not suffer with him-"

"I don't believe you Dickon would never join you not even if-" he stopped, eyes setting on the man who walked around the corner. The guard lowered his hand as Margaret held up a signal for him to stop, violence would not be needed. She watched as the Yorkist king fell to his knees eyes fixed upon Richard, devastation replacing the once fuelled hope. "How could you? Dickon, how-" 

"Silence brother, she offered me what you cannot. In return she offers you mercy. You will not die today as you deserve." Richard watched the surprise flicker in Edwards eyes, watched as he looked for confirmation. 

"Your brother has spared you a horrific fate. In three weeks you shall be taken from here, to a place of private execution, there your head shall be removed by sword not axe, and your body buried in a place of worship and marked according to dukely status." Her attention fell to the men beside Edward. "You may all go with him, or spare yourselves as admit that I am your true queen."

"Never!" William Hastings stood, knocked down hard by a guard. Anthony Woodville following the chamberlains lead. 

"As you wish." She turned, ensuring Richard was behind her as she left the dungeon with speed. 

 

Alone with her son, Margaret of Anjou poured wine, sipping the liquid from a goblet of glass. "My son, my precious boy." She watched him smile, occasionally glancing to his wife with a look of disgust, of hate. She sighed and stroked his cheek. How she wished he could love her, at least that he could try. That he could make it pleasant for the girl. He would not. Romance was not among her sons finer talents. She looked to him as he spoke. 

"You are not truly going to offer him a death with dignity. After all he has done."

"What has he done?" Anne Neville spoke, her eyes focused on the window. Focused on the stairway which lead to the dungeons. All until her focus was ripped away. 

"What has he done? You stupid girl!" Edward of Lancaster sent a hand around her face, another circled her throat, she choked. "He removed my father from his rightful place and exiled me as an infant. What has he done? He is a traitor and a usurper, and related to the devil." He threw her to the floor, watching as she hit her head, turning from her as she lay silent on the floor. Silent tears leaving her eyes. 

"Edward, moi amoureux, non." Margaret took her sons hands. "She did not deserve that. I will not stick to my word, Edward of York shall die come Friday. He will be burned at the stake till dead-"

"Dead? You grant him such mercy."

"What does my boy propose?"

"Burned until nearly dead, then cut, his in trails removed and burned before him before he is quartered and delivered to the fake queen." 

"Cherie, consider it done." 

With those words, Anne lost control of her stomach, vomiting the remains of the food she had eaten. 

 

Thursday: 

"Richard! Please!" Edward pulled at the chains, his arms tired from the wall restraints, feet aching from four days of standing. "Just bread, bread! I have not seen food in three days." He watched as Richard walked past, seeming to ignore him. He sighed saving energy for when the man walked back. "Richard! You bastard!" Those words made his brother turn. "You are not convinced she has betrayed you? She lied! I will die soon. Here if starvation at the gallows or the scaffold but I will die and soon. For the love of god think! She killed our father! She killed Edmund! Corrupted George and stole Anne for her son! God damnit Dickon, for love of god or your brother, at least for the love you bare our mother, do not have her hear I starved. Do not." 

"Ned." Richard whispered the name, breaking bread onto a plate, nodding for the cell to be unlocked before walking in. "Ned, dearest brother you must trust-"

"Trust who?" He pulled at the chains, accepting as Richard placed bread into his mouth. Chewing he listened, swallowing each piece. 

"She will hold to her word I promise." 

"Dickon please." Edward watched with tears in his eyes as Richard turned, beginning to walk away. "Please!" The rest Richard knew was curses, oaths and wishes for his damnation. Every word made him cringe. How he knew Edward was right, how he knew tomorrow was there last chance. The plan had to work. It had to work first time.


	35. Chapter 35

Richard watched in pale faced silence as the men worked outside. Setting up a scaffold fit for a burning. He said nothing as the people he surrounded himself with spoke French around him. Eyes fixed on the equipment of destruction now ready outside. "Who will die today."

"The traitor." 

Richard turned at the voice, dark eyes setting on the creature who had taken Anne, taken her and married her but now treated her with brutality shown to the Jews in eygpt. The Lancastrian had offered his words in a superior tone. Richard held back all his will to punch him. "The traitor your grace?"

"Edward of York."

"He will be burned?" Richards throat closed, his chest suddenly heavy, his stomach tensed and he tasted bile. Dear Jesu, he hadn't been ready for that. His heart pounded, his eyes closing momentarily. Images burned into his eyelids, flames, smile, he heard the coughing, the screams if pure agony, the smell of burning flesh filling his nostrils. This was hell, and these people the devils incarnates. It was like his lung snapped, he coughed and spluttered. 

"Is that permitted by his lord of Gloucester?" The Lancastrian prince mocked once more, muttering under his breath. "I don't see why he is not with them lady mother."

"Sweeting-" Margaret started, a look of disgust on her face as she was interrupted by the most unlikely of souls. 

"Because he switched allegiance husband! For that you of all should be grateful." 

All went silent, eyes fixed in Anne Neville as she finished her objection. Richard tensed, seeing Lancaster move with swiftness he had seen in few others, his hand sealing around Anne's throat. Richards hand reached for the dagger at his belt, somehow he resisted. Settling for pulling the hand off her throat, receiving a punch from the man in return. "Make yourself useful Gloucester. Check on our prisoner, for your actions you can inform him of his death." The queen handed him a document which he read. His stomach churning the instant he saw the words. Thankfully, it was not until he fled the room his stomach won it's fight and he was sick. 

 

Richard heard singing, he walked slowly listening to his brothers words. Ned had always been a charming singer, he remembered it from his earliest days. It was not long before he'd reached the cell, the door opened he entered. "Edward." His tone was cold, he took no pleasure from his brothers smile. A smile which said he was simply happy to have company. Nor was he Lancaster he knew, he took no joy from his brothers bruised, tatted and malnurished appearance. "Guard! Have some water fetched and unchain him." The guard looked skeptical but obeyed, chaining Edward after he sat at Richards command. No more was said until the bucket of water arrived. Richard ripped the shirt his brother wore, damping it brushing Edwards skin with it lighty. Careful not to aggregate the sores and bruises. 

"Jesu it's cold Richard." 

"More than you deserve." Richard saw the glint leave Edwards eyes, the stricken look cross his face.

"My god, I thought you jested, you truly joined sides with Lancaster and I am to die." Richard heard the sob, watched as Edward gave to fits of crying, pushing Richard away like a child denied his will. 

"I am trying to clean you damn it!"

"I wish it not." 

"Edward-"

"Do not speak to me. Why did you? How could you?!"

"Anne, you gave her to that monster! He will kill her Ned! He will kill her!"

"That is his right! Mayhap it should not be, but I cannot control the devil Dickon, only aim to fight him, destroy him. But you took that from me. Denied me my right. Besides, it was our cousin Warwick and not I who gave her to him. As you so delicately put it." 

Richard threw the bucket. "You sent her from England! You denied my marriage to her!" For the first time in memory Richard struck his brother. The look of defeat crossed Edwards face. "No, for what you allowed to happen to her, you deserve death as he does. I can only hope that god dispatches you quickly."

Richard saw his brother nod and turned away pausing as he heard edwards words. "As you seem so firm in your decisions, then mayhap you could be merciful. Tell me how I should expect to die."

"It was at Lancasters word. Your skin shall be burned then you shall be taken.." He stopped as Edward indicated for silence. Richard left listening to sobs. For a moment he almost turned and helped his brother. His anger was stronger than that, and turning to hate. 

 

 

He watched from a high up window. Lancastrians were gathering, among them was Margaret, her son spawned from satan. Richard said nothing as he watched, the crowd parting, heard the jibes and laughter as he saw Edward guided through the crowds, helped to the scaffold and tied to the stake. He heard the prayers, clear Latin, heard even his brother confess sins. 

 

" sanctus Pater, te donante, mitis. non parcas ei, et occidit, hic cito dolorem. et salutabitis eum ex anima eius, et dat ei amor aeternitatem dexteram amplectar. tuum sit. amen."

Edward held back tears, numbness had long ago removed the anguish. He heard the priest, allowed the man to approach, draw a cross over his body as stacks of hey were laid at his feet. "My child, any last sins you have need to confess?" 

He regretted in an instant, denying himself a right to a priest before his death. It had not shown him innocent. He nodded, the priest held up a hand for silence. Words died down in a moment. "Confess my child."

"I have sinned-"

"Don't we know!" One man shouted, another followed.

"Usurper! Usurper!" 

"Silence!" It was Margaret who spoke. "Let him speak, for he is still above each of you!" 

"I thank you madam. I have sinned and seek forgiveness. For my sins are many and foul, my marriage to my lady Beaufort being one. Lord save her, bless her and keep her. Elizabeth too, though it is hard to see her as queen. I will not repent and accept that bitch as my sovereign lady, for I am Edward Plantagenet, first born son of his grace the duke of York and king if England by name, right and action. King by conquest like good king William of Normandy. I will die with courage and honour. I will die a Yorkist to the last." As the words went silent the priest crossed him again and stepped away. The torches touched the hey. 

 

Richard watched silently. Seeing the hey begin to smoulder, smoke reach the air. He tensed, feeling the figure approach behind, felt the soft hand touch his. "Think on your decisions, there's still time." With no more words she was gone. He had no need to ask who. He knew her meaning, his heart ached. He was quick to run, feet clapping on stone as he descended to steps.


	36. Chapter 36

Wednesday 

 

The duke of burgundy ran, hearing his wife's wailing cry. Bounding through the double doors he was with her in a second, kneeling beside her slumped figure as she knelt upon the floor, her skirts creased, parchment crumpled in her hands and tears streaming down her face. "Phillipe! Help me get her to her feet." The men took hold of her "Cherie, don't cry." The duke held her close feeling her body tremble. "Oh dear Margaret, what plagues you so thoroughly it does this?" He tried to reach for the parchment in her hand, she snatched it back. 

"It is your fault! You would not help him! It is your fault!"

He said nothing to sanction her as she slapped his chest, beating him with soft hands as she sobbed, this time falling into a chair when energy deserted her. "Margaret, where is your brother? England's king." 

"He is with her!"

"Who is this her you speak of?"

"The bitch of Anjou!"

"No." The duke looked up and waved a hand. "Margaret, you are sure?"

"Of course!"

"Then he is dead?"

"Come Friday, they will execute him."

"Friday?"

"Yes." She wiped tears shaking as she did. 

"Phillips! Tell my men to be ready to mount up. Ten minutes and we leave for France!" 

 

Friday

Richard ran as fast as his feet would take him. Into the dungeons. The guard now lay unconscious as he worked at the chains which held Anthony and Will. "Dickon this is certainly a turn out, I thought you had deserted."

"Nay, never lord Hastings. But we may not dally, my brother needs us."

"He lives?"

"Ever closer to death." The chains gave, Hastings was the first out and up the stairs, Richard close behind. Anthony set to releasing men, taking them to heel to fight for the Yorkist cause. 

 

The crowd parted, darting this way and that to avoid the horses as hooves beat the ground. Smoke filled the courtyard and orange flames began to shoot up, finally beginning to take the wood at Edwards feet. The men moved quickly, jumping from their horses using steel to cast aside burning hey. The first whimpers of pain could be heard above the crackles coming from the flames. The man still on his horse pulled his reins tight, seeing the man upon the stake blindfolded and whimpering he sighed, pitiful. The Lancastrians had done this giving him no chance to fight. It was a spectacle. A display. He felt sick. Too sick almost to stop the horse as the woman jumped in front. "Madam move yourself!" 

"You cannot! He is my prisoner and will die for his treason!"

"I say it again, remove yourself or be removed!"

"You hold no power over me!"

"Oh contra! I have every power now move!" Charles of burgundy watched as more horses charged in through the east gate, foot men to follow under the standard he now recognised. "Gloucester!" He waved, horsemen approached, but none were Richard he noted, spurring his horse as the young man jumped from his own running toward the burning scaffold his own men had now dived away from. The courtyard was engulfed in smoke, flames burning in assorted piles and strewn hey caught fire. The first real screams stung his ears as flames licked skin or cloth. Richard drew closer, fighting men in his path. Men horses quickly cleared. "Jesu Gloucester! Don't be a fool!" Charles reached, brushed cotton but could not catch him as the English duke shed his doublet, charging toward the fire like a mad man. Charles shouted, men lifted buckets throwing water on the flames hearing them his in objection and die down, soon to rise again. Charles was fast, drawing his sword as the Lancastrian prince approached, desperate to feed the flames and engulf both the Yorkists. The tip of his blade touched the princes throat. "I wouldn't Monsieur, you would be ill advised." William Hastings approached from behind, trapping the Lancastrian child. "For York!" Charles shouted, England's chamberlain echoing his words. 

 

Richard fought, pulling the dagger from his belt taking it furiously to rope, he ripped his shirt, rolling it and slipping it into Edwards mouth, like a horses bit. "Bite down on that." He needed to stop the blood curdling screams. The fire hadn't touched his brothers skin. But already he knew why, he bit his lip. Men were pouring water on the flames, desperate to take their heat, to keep escape as an option. But still it was unbearable. He worked hard, fast, the blade snapped. He cursed. Tackling the rope with teeth. Sweat ran from his forehead. He watched as Edward coughed. Inhaling smoke which would choke him. "Ned! Hold your breath! Breathe if you have to. I'm trying I am!" He checked his belt, pulling his sword from it's scabbard slashing the rope at Edwards waist, lifting his arms up. He stumbled. Flames shot up. He cursed, supporting the weight of a now unconscious giant. "Ned wake up!" He slapped his brothers cheek to no avail. "Ned!" Tears left his eyes, this was futile. He knew now unless someone helped, unless god sent down a blessed miracle it was him or Edward. He gulped, wiping sweat which burnt his eyes. Cursing and stripping fabric as flames brushed his shirt. 

Water cooled his skin, only for a moment clearing a gap in the flames for a second. A second long enough. "will! Take him!" He hauled dead weight, Hastings pulling. Richard watched as Edward hit cold ground, coughing as Anthony threw water onto him before lifting him to his feet throwing him to a horse. Richard gulped, more water hit the flames. He saw enough through orange smokey blur. Lancaster approached tackling the man with buckets. That was it, he had to escape now. No more water would come to his aid. He braced himself, feet stinging from the heat. He dug the sword into the timber flinging himself onto the cobbles. He was up quickly, taken onto a horse. The hooves beat quickly. "Men! Hurry!" He heard the French accent before he let exhaustion take him into darkness.


	37. Chapter 37

The horses galloped, men ran. "Richard!" Hastings shouted, pulling his reins up as sea came into view. "Where is Edward. Edward!" Hastings spun his horse a full circle, sighing with relief as Edward spurred his horse over the peak of the hill, paying them no attention as without pause he took it down the toward the sea with speed. 

"God Speed Hastings! God Speed!" 

Hastings laughed despite himself, reaching the Calais docks behind Edward and his men. He pulled his horse to a stop, watching their rear as Edward began to talk to a man loading his ship. He heard the familiar English accent, standing out among the crowd. "Good sir I beg you."

"I cannot monseiur! I cannot! I must make profit on my goods the ship it must be-"

"100 groats per boat That will make you a profit. I reckon three horses and two hundred and fifty men per boat. You have how many boats?"

"10 monseiur."

"We shall need five, so. Thats 500 groats."

"I cannot."

"For God sakes man, 750?" The man hesitated. Edward sighed, handing a ruby ring. "Plus the 750."

"Get on and good luck monseiur."

"Men!" Edward signalled. 

"Edward! Your Grace! Hurry! Get on the boat!" William Hastings drew his sword. "Get on and cast off!" He watched as Edward turned, pulling his own sword from his belt. Anthony Woodville and Richard soon joining them. "Your grace must not-"

"I am not leaving you Hastings. We all go, or none go. You think you will fair better than me? Lancaster will not how us mercy." Edward looked. "Anthony load your boat. Dickon, you too. If they get men boarded we can hope ours will be ready. But damn it hurry yourselves!" Richard turned quickly, packing the boat quickly with men as many as he could, Anthony following with his own. "Hastings, command the archers. Keep them on the deck. That goes for all of you! Get archers on the decks! Be ready! If you fight for us, they will kill you all!" 

"My payment!" The boatman objected. 

"You'll get it in blood if you don't silence your objections." He tossed a velvet bag toward the man backing his horse until he could turn, taking up the gangplank, ensuring Hastings was safe before removing the gang plank as the Lancastrian horses made their way through the town. "Captain! Hurry your-" Edward cursed, rushing up the steps, he himself took the helm all to the captains objections, spinning it hard left until the boat bowed away from the dock, following Richard and Anthony out toward the sea. Not before he looked back, seeing men in desperate attempt to bribe the man, a man claiming he had no boats remaining. A man who wished only to keep peace in France. 

 

 

 

"We must prepare." George of Clarence looked up as Warwick walked past him, slamming a cup down on the table. The duke said nothing, watching silently as Warwick stormed up and down the room. Furious, that much was clear. George was growing tired of the earl, growing bored with the man's blatent incapacity to tell anyone anything. For everyone was deemed to be below Richard Neville, Kings of Englands themselves were below the King maker. He deemed no one as able to understand him, no one able to make battle plans. And he of course, thought himself to be so utterly invincible. George however had no need to ask, his senses had brought him to the only conclusion that could be drawn. Warwick was furious because he had reason to be, because someone who was a threat to his life, to his existence. Moreover, a threat to his pride, thus someone who could beat him. So Edward had landed, and landed with an army. 

George too was furious, He had handed them to the Lancastrians in France, and still the she wolf had failed to kill them. He had handed them over like lambs for slaughter, he had men at their tails as they lived in Burgundy. Yet nothing was lost, now he would get rid of the Earl of Warwick, for Ned would win. A fool would know Ned would win, he would make his brother win. For Warwick was ever exceeding himself. Of course, it had always been among his plans, to cease the inconvenience which was his lord of Warwick. Then, it had been as though the earl had caught onto his plans, when he had placed Lancaster back on his throne, when he had ruined Clarences plans, as though it were an accident. A likely accident... 

No, he had known and he had planned it. It was too convenient of an accident.

To place the fool back on his throne, the placid fool who would not kill nor harm a hair on the head of a rat. Yet Edward would see to it. All he had to do was join forces with his brother and Warwick would be dead, Warwick would be no more of an inconvenience. The brat of Lancaster and the she wolf would prove harder. Hard but not impossible. No, nothing was impossible when the Yorks worked together. 

Then it would be done, then it would be done easily. He would see to it that Edward was to sleep. One night he would sleep and fail to wake. It would be tragic. But first, they needed to win the war. He stared down the earl with determination. "They have landed, your brothers and their men. They reached York on Sunday. Ned had them lay upon him his birth right. Claimed he wished no more than to be duke of York. As though he thinks we can let him live."

"You cannot. Warwick, for his grace the true king, King Henry, you cannot."

"George my cousin. I know. I know only too well. My God it may be hard. But your brother cannot be allowed his life."

"No." George rose, collecting the scrolls from the table. Ensuing the dagger was firmly in his belt. "No, you cannot." With those words he turned and left the room, a small smile upon his face. It was not long before he had fled the castles keep, men at his trail as he headed north. On the road which lead from Coventry to York. 

All he could pray now was that he would meet his brothers as they headed south, to London.


	38. Chapter 38

Westminster Abbey

"Mother!" Elizabeth hid the children, closing the doors around them, locking them. "Mother! Dear God mother!" She turned quickly closing the gates, grabbing hold of Margaret. "Why would they break sanctuary now? My husband is dead-"

"For that reason your grace, your son."

"You do not believe they could, truly?"

"Believe? I know." Margaret showed the woman the cold attitude the same as the queen showed her with each foul word. 

"How could they, he is a babe-"

"And babes grow and one day, unless they stop it. He will grow to be a king." 

"Margaret." Elizabeth broke into tears, hearing herself sob, watching the Beaufort woman step away. The men drew nearer, she heard each step. She saw the flames following their path. She shivered, her eyes darting to the cabinet. He preyed in silence, begging the lord to keep her children safe as he had failed to save her husband. She begged the lord not to give them away, to keep them hidden from men's eyes. For they would spare her no mercy, she did not care. Her life was nothing but tatters now he was gone, nothing but unsavable memories that would haunt her being. But there was hope for her children. 

She sat, awaiting them, ready for the doors to burst open and her life to be over. It was then, as the doors indeed burst open and light flooded the chamber that she knew in an instant she was safe. The first face she saw was that of her brother, followed by the duke of gloucester and William Hastings. She rose, running toward them with joy upon her face. Never had she been so glad to see her husbands associates. She stopped, failing to embrace them as she paused, waiting for their words. The word she waited to hear from them, the news she did not want to hear, the news that if confirmed would break her heart. "Is he-" She stopped, the words failing to leave her mouth, instead a sob escaped as she smiled. "Edward!"Her arms shot around his neck, their lips connected. His hands worked naturally to wipe the tears from her eyes as their cheeks brushed, before finally he held her in his arms; safe for the first time in many months.

"Elizabeth." His eyes turned fixing on Margaret, with whom he shared a smile, releasing Elizabeth to approach, wrapping his arms around Margaret. "Margaret, I thank you. I gather you have done much for my wife." He looked around, his eyebrow raised. "Wife, where are my children?"

"My lord!" She raced toward the cabinet, unlocking the door, opening them smiling as her husband delighted as the children clambered out. It was a moment before the eldest, Elizabeth, who rushed toward him, a squeal greeted him as she did. She jumped into his arms. Laughing as he spun her around. 

"Papa!" She kissed his cheek almost crying as her mother stepped forward, holding the tiny figure swathed in blankets. Elizabeths feet touched the ground, all knew as she objected, screaming as her father took the baby from her mother. She settled for unhappy grumbles as her mother lifted her, watching as Edward stepped away, looking the child over with clear, paternal delight. "His names Edward papa! He's named after the king!" It brought smiles to all faces.


	39. Chapter 39

"Your Grace." William Hastings looked somber. Personally, he had long since grown bored of the courts weakness, the way the men of the court would have him inform Edward of all the things he had need to know, but never any to make him smile. Recent months had proven him the barer of bad news. 

"Will?" He replied with little energy, struggling to find the motivation to lift his head off the cushion which surrounded it, refusing to consider the abandonment of the one in his arms. "Is this something you need interrupt my sleep for?" 

"I'm afraid so." Edward rolled, pulling the cushion he held further toward him, completely unaware of it's presence. Hastings sat upon the mattress, for the first time displaying the attire which suggested he too had been roused from his bed. "Word has come from the Tower."

"What? What word?"

"The old king Henry died abed last night." 

"Impossible!" Edward quickly sat moving the covers away desperately, trying to escape from the bed. "What are you waiting for? Will. Clothes!" 

"Your grace was not expecting such news?"

"No! Of course not. You expected me to ki-" he sat back down suddenly wounded, but quick in understanding his chamberlains meaning. "They all think I ordered him dead?" 

"It is only reasonable Edward." Will forced the kings hand into his own, holding it in a form of rare comfort. 

"My court believe I murdered a pious old man, and I stand to gain what?"

"Englands crown, with Henry's death you stand to be England's undisputed ruler."

And in that moment he knew. 

 

 

"Henry's dead?" Margaret was talking to George Plantagenet. 

"My brother-"

"I am aware who my lord of Clarence I am more interested in why."

"He wants to drag England to hell-"

"Now George." Richard approached, glaring as he did. "You're the man who kidnaps young women-"

"Dickon, she is under my protection."

"Protection." Richard scoffed. "Yes, your protection. And yet even when our brother and king asks, you do not say how she spends her days."

"In health and prosperity brother."

"There is nothing like proof George." The voice filled the hall with tension. Margaret curtsied dismissing herself with speed, barely able to meet his eye as he fled. "Would it be false to accuse you of once again spreading your foul rumours?" He said it with a smirk. "Of course not, I doubt you could resist." He said the words as though they were bitter on his tongue, finally embracing Richard. "My dear brother." 

"Ned." 

"Forgive our brothers arrogance, it comes as natural to George as plague to a peasant or death to a traitor. I am sure the girl is safe and well."

"as you said Ned, there is nothin like proof."

"What do want from me Dickon?" George shouted, hands waving as he did. A laugh interrupted the tension as Edward slapped George's back turning away. 

"You heard Clarence, the lad wants proof. You aught to give it him."

"He should trust-" George stopped his words and shuddered as for the first time in months his eyes met Edwards. 

"It wasn't a request brother. I'd advise you oblige me." With the words Edward left, Richard stared with smugness set upon fine features. It only served to fuel George's anger. 

 

"You have to help." 

"Correction, you would like me to help. I have to do nothing." Edward sat in a chair finger a chess piece. His eyes looking over the girl in front of him. It was queer, peculiar how young girls grew up so fast. Not a year ago Anne Neville had been just that, a girl, with the body and heart of a lonely infant. A neglected child. Now, now she was a woman of independence, of standing. A widow and alone in the world, alone except for the few she would beg. The few she would allow to see the her fragile stet below the facade of an independent woman. He moved the piece. Placing it down upon the board. 

"You're wrong your grace." 

"Pardon?" He looked shocked as he fingered another piece moving it as she began to speak. 

"You are wrong, you have to help." He moved the knight, took a piece and smiled.

"I am curious as to how you gathered that my lady." His hand touched the ivory crafted king, moving it. "I am king, I can do as I please." It tapped against the marble square as he completed his sentence. Anne smiled, lifting the queen at the opposite side. 

"Alas, if only that were true. Kings can dream. Is it one space a king may move in chess? Or two?"

"A king can move one, in any direction. A queen many, in any direction. You digress."

"I do not." She moved the queen, placing it in line to check the ivory king. "See as in this game, so you call it, you may move your king but one space to escape this queens desires. It touches too much on reality do you not think?" She winced as an ivory knight took the ebony queen. 

"I am intrigued. Continue." He moved a pawn, another playing himself as an opponent as she spoke. 

"See, though women have freedoms men do not, it is mans job to protect a lady. Is that not so?"

"So says the scriptures and legends aye." 

"And as king, you must stay by to protect your people. As must a king move minimally upon the board, he must keep his pieces close for his protection, and close to protect his pieces."

"Correct." He looked up, hand resting in the ivory king once more. "I tire of your riddles quickly lady Anne." 

"Very well. You must help me because I form your protection. Without me you lose you the Neville support. That would be truly drastic, lethal to your cause your grace." She sat watching as he moved pieces. "As my king, a most bold and brave knight, you must standby and protect a subject you know to be in need." 

"And if I do not?" He looked up, holding the ebony queen in his hand.

"Oh, the crown can easily slip to someone better able your grace." 

"Tis treason." He smiled, playful. She took his hand, caressing his fingers so the piece released into her hand, placing it on the same square as the ivory cast king.

"No, it's only treason if I do not succeed. Believe Edward, if you cross me, it will be the last thing you ever do." With those words she smiled innocently. 

He leaned back, smiling. His fingers crossed in his lap. "It sounds as though the lady is not in need of my, lowly help." 

"Oh contra my lord, I must at least look the part of a feeble woman." 

"Once I'd say I saw much of your mother in you, but now I'd wager I was wrong. I see purely my own mothers blood rushing through your veins."

"Tell me is that a compliment my son?" Cecily Neville had entered silent as a mouse, her hand rested on her sons shoulder, making him jump. He took her hand, folding her fingers over his own and kissed her hand, kneeling upon the floor.

"Of the highest ma mere."


	40. Chapter 40

Barnet had been horrible, Tewkesbury worse. Richard gulped as the older among the group spoke of Towton. How no battle would ever live up to it. "Was it really that bad Ned?"

"Towton? I didn't sleep for months. Blood seemed to run from everything... Jesu Dickon we bathed in it, swam in it, until bodies blocked our way then we paused if only to move them. All until Somerset lost control, men fled. We claimed impossible victory. But Towton will be nothing. When I am through." Richard noticed the smile appear on Edwards face as Lancaster was dragged before him. Richard raised his sword in an instant; George too. "No!" The Lancaster prince looked up, shock written on his face. "Do not kill him.. By sword as though he died in battle with all the honours thereof." The cruelest smile came across Edwards face. Richard shuddered, no rehearsal could have prepared him for his brothers cruelty. A cruelty so rare Richard began to walk, stopped by the Woodville man he detested. He heard the words and shuddered as Edward spoke in a voice cold, devoid of reason and mercy. "Tell me Lancaster. What fate befell the holy apostle Bartholomew?" 

"You whoreson!" The Lancaster prince struggled against the men who held him, men who were delighted to strike the boys face. 

"I was about to tell you I am no barbarian, that I do not gain pleasure from the pain of a traitor. Even you, but you are right. I must, since you will slander my mother so willingly." He turned slightly looking to Richard handing over his sword. "I am right tempted to do it myself, and send your skin as a rug to your mother before her death in the tower." He watched as the prince began his sobs. "Silence! Accept your fate with dignity. You cannot think I would let your mother live? After all she has done to me. Stupid boy."

"If I live?" He heard hope in Lancasters words.

"You wont. But if I choose to spare you after each cut of your putrid flesh is removed? It will be because I am not satisfied that you have suffered adequately for your sins." Edward waved a hand and the boy was dragged away. In an instant Hastings was by his side.

 

"This makes you no better than he! Edward!" Hastings risked it, grabbed his masters arm, knocked easily to the ground. 

"Do you think I should show him mercy Will? When he would burn me and worse and kill you shamelessly? When I know what my wife and children would have suffered at his hand? Do you think yours would have faired better. Most assuredly they would not." 

"But... Flaying? He needs to die I grant that but so mercilessly?"

"Because what he would have done to me was merciful? Do you know what it's like will? To feel flames brush your skin and know the pain will be replaced by more? Before finally you die and your body travels for your own humiliation in death as you ended your life? No? Then hold your tongue before I have mind to remove it." 

William Hastings shuddered. As he looked into Edwards eyes, he saw barely human insanity. A deep running trauma. An anger which would never heal. Hastings saw nothing as Richard helped him to his feet. "Will?"

"What?"

"Ned, he's truly-"

"He will do what he needs to. If only I thought he able to stomach it."

"But Lancasters death will need witnesses." Richard shuddered as he watched Lancaster be dragged away already screaming, watching Edward sharpening a dagger on the edge of his sword, "he cannot. Will surely!"

"Dickon lad, I'd flee if I could. Get yourself to London and as far away from this cursed place as you can. For god knows, this will drag us to hell."

 

The Palace of Westminster. 

"Your grace, lady Anne Neville." Te girl walked nervously, her step shaking as her knees grew weak. Each inch which desolved between them brought her one step closer to the man who killed her husband. She reached the dais, curtsying, her head bowed before the royal couple. Her eyes caught movement, Edward shifted his weight. 

"Lady Anne. How wonderful to see you." She looked up, raising at his welcoming gesture. "My brother of Gloucester tells me it was you who indeed saved me at a time of perile. I thank you."

"It was expected your grace."

"Quite the contrary! You were married to a traitor. I'd half expected treason from yourself. I am rarely so delighted for a wife to disobey her husband." He tapped Elizabeth's hand, whispering in her ear. The queen forced a reluctant smile on her face, squeezing her husbands hand so tight he winced and inhaled sharply. "As I was saying lady Anne. We welcome you home." For a moment his voice cut off, his eyes met Elizabeth's as she squeezed his hand again, taking up a knife in the other, swirling it on the table. A threat all too subtle. All noticed as Edward gulped, she queen dropped her knife into his lap. He jolted eyes closing for a second. "We welcome you home, all of us." His final words were emphasised before he pushed the queens hand away and rose. Leaving the banquette hall with speed. 

 

 

The Tower of London. 

They had paraded her through London for all to see. Anne Neville too. But then the sweet girl had gone; they had parted. Anne Neville had gone to Edward of York to beg for mercy and likely receive none. Margaret of Anjou was alone, confused and above all frightened. Not for herself, she knew well what would befall her. Knew well her son had died. She knew nothing of how and nothing of her husband. 

She heard feet on the stone outside, the jangle of keys and the door opened. She sat, facing the mirror gaining the reflection of the man she cared little for seeing. "You'll disrespect me so? You are to stand when royalty-"

"You are not royalty, but an archers bastard-"

"and still a better king than your husband or son could ever make. Now stand." She did with reluctance, staring cold eyed at Richard of Gloucester as he followed his brother. A lap dog to it's master. 

"You have come to tell me how my son died?"

"No worse a manner than he intended for me." 

"Better I dare say." Richard added, silenced as Edward held up a hand. 

"Dickon you did not see, do not judge. It was certainly no worse madam. I granted him privacy. Cept three witnesses. To prove the deed done."

"Their names?"

"Myself, William Hastings and Anthony Woodville." 

"Traitors, all of you." He scoffed. "Tell me how."

"In the manner of death to befall Barth-" he was cut off by her tears. Handing her a silk handkerchief much to Richards surprise. "I will not forget madam. You dismissed all the fondness you once showed me that day in Paris. But also you have spared me, twice. I shall not forget and so. I shall spare you-"

"Spare me for my pain is more useful to you!"

"Spare you because you do not deserve death madam! The insane will not suffer at my hand." With those words he left. Richard spent a moment, but followed in quick succession.


	41. Chapter 41

"Your Grace." William Hastings looked somber. Personally, he had long since grown bored of the courts weakness, the way the men of the court would have him inform Edward of all the things he had need to know, but never any to make him smile. Recent months had proven him the barer of bad news. 

"Will?" He replied with little energy, struggling to find the motivation to lift his head off the cushion which surrounded it, refusing to consider the abandonment of the one in his arms. "Is this something you need interrupt my sleep for?" 

"I'm afraid so." Edward rolled, pulling the cushion he held further toward him, completely unaware of it's presence. Hastings sat upon the mattress, for the first time displaying the attire which suggested he too had been roused from his bed. "Word has come from the Tower."

"What? What word?"

"The old king Henry died abed last night." 

"Impossible!" Edward quickly sat moving the covers away desperately, trying to escape from the bed. "What are you waiting for? Will. Clothes!" 

"Your grace was not expecting such news?"

"No! Of course not. You expected me to ki-" he sat back down suddenly wounded, but quick in understanding his chamberlains meaning. "They all think I ordered him dead?" 

"It is only reasonable Edward." Will forced the kings hand into his own, holding it in a form of rare comfort. 

"My court believe I murdered a pious old man, and I stand to gain what?"

"Englands crown, with Henry's death you stand to be England's undisputed ruler."

And in that moment he knew. 

 

 

"Henry's dead?" Margaret was talking to George Plantagenet. 

"My brother-"

"I am aware who my lord of Clarence I am more interested in why."

"He wants to drag England to hell-"

"Now George." Richard approached, glaring as he did. "You're the man who kidnaps young women-"

"Dickon, she is under my protection."

"Protection." Richard scoffed. "Yes, your protection. And yet even when our brother and king asks, you do not say how she spends her days."

"In health and prosperity brother."

"There is nothing like proof George." The voice filled the hall with tension. Margaret curtsied dismissing herself with speed, barely able to meet his eye as he fled. "Would it be false to accuse you of once again spreading your foul rumours?" He said it with a smirk. "Of course not, I doubt you could resist." He said the words as though they were bitter on his tongue, finally embracing Richard. "My dear brother." 

"Ned." 

"Forgive our brothers arrogance, it comes as natural to George as plague to a peasant or death to a traitor. I am sure the girl is safe and well."

"as you said Ned, there is nothin like proof."

"What do want from me Dickon?" George shouted, hands waving as he did. A laugh interrupted the tension as Edward slapped George's back turning away. 

"You heard Clarence, the lad wants proof. You aught to give it him."

"He should trust-" George stopped his words and shuddered as for the first time in months his eyes met Edwards. 

"It wasn't a request brother. I'd advise you oblige me." With the words Edward left, Richard stared with smugness set upon fine features. It only served to fuel George's anger. 

 

"You have to help." 

"Correction, you would like me to help. I have to do nothing." Edward sat in a chair finger a chess piece. His eyes looking over the girl in front of him. It was queer, peculiar how young girls grew up so fast. Not a year ago Anne Neville had been just that, a girl, with the body and heart of a lonely infant. A neglected child. Now, now she was a woman of independence, of standing. A widow and alone in the world, alone except for the few she would beg. The few she would allow to see the her fragile stet below the facade of an independent woman. He moved the piece. Placing it down upon the board. 

"You're wrong your grace." 

"Pardon?" He looked shocked as he fingered another piece moving it as she began to speak. 

"You are wrong, you have to help." He moved the knight, took a piece and smiled.

"I am curious as to how you gathered that my lady." His hand touched the ivory crafted king, moving it. "I am king, I can do as I please." It tapped against the marble square as he completed his sentence. Anne smiled, lifting the queen at the opposite side. 

"Alas, if only that were true. Kings can dream. Is it one space a king may move in chess? Or two?"

"A king can move one, in any direction. A queen many, in any direction. You digress."

"I do not." She moved the queen, placing it in line to check the ivory king. "See as in this game, so you call it, you may move your king but one space to escape this queens desires. It touches too much on reality do you not think?" She winced as an ivory knight took the ebony queen. 

"I am intrigued. Continue." He moved a pawn, another playing himself as an opponent as she spoke. 

"See, though women have freedoms men do not, it is mans job to protect a lady. Is that not so?"

"So says the scriptures and legends aye." 

"And as king, you must stay by to protect your people. As must a king move minimally upon the board, he must keep his pieces close for his protection, and close to protect his pieces."

"Correct." He looked up, hand resting in the ivory king once more. "I tire of your riddles quickly lady Anne." 

"Very well. You must help me because I form your protection. Without me you lose you the Neville support. That would be truly drastic, lethal to your cause your grace." She sat watching as he moved pieces. "As my king, a most bold and brave knight, you must standby and protect a subject you know to be in need." 

"And if I do not?" He looked up, holding the ebony queen in his hand.

"Oh, the crown can easily slip to someone better able your grace." 

"Tis treason." He smiled, playful. She took his hand, caressing his fingers so the piece released into her hand, placing it on the same square as the ivory cast king.

"No, it's only treason if I do not succeed. Believe Edward, if you cross me, it will be the last thing you ever do." With those words she smiled innocently. 

He leaned back, smiling. His fingers crossed in his lap. "It sounds as though the lady is not in need of my, lowly help." 

"Oh contra my lord, I must at least look the part of a feeble woman." 

"Once I'd say I saw much of your mother in you, but now I'd wager I was wrong. I see purely my own mothers blood rushing through your veins."

"Tell me is that a compliment my son?" Cecily Neville had entered silent as a mouse, her hand rested on her sons shoulder, making him jump. He took her hand, folding her fingers over his own and kissed her hand, kneeling upon the floor.

"Of the highest ma mere."


	42. Chapter 42

"Gone? How can she just have gone George?" Richard held his brother against the wall, a blade to his throat. It took each inch of his strength to fight his desires. To do what Edward should have done on the road from York to Barnet. He tried to steady a shaking hand, tried to stop his fingers from tightening upon the daggers hilt and tearing George's flesh. Deserve it though he may, they would never find where Anne was if he did. She could not have simply disappeared, George's story was insanity. People could not vanish into thin air, no matter if they were a witch or working with a witch.

"She has gone Richard, I don't know how. If now is time to concede I had her under guard in her chambers, then I shall, but she is gone and not by my doing."

"Nonsense! You kept her prisoner and couldnt even do that right? Damn it George! Why should I believe you?"

"Because you have no choice."

"Dickon alas he is right." Edward spoke for the first time. His amusement had warn away. Little pleasure could be drawn from seeing his brothers fight over something which rightfully was neither of theirs to fight over. "Perhaps you should leave it."

"Leave it?"

"Yes, leave it." His tone called for no arguments. "I do not believe that the girl has simply disappeared, I believe in magic no more than I believe in celibacy, however I doubt our brother is going to confess away his sins and tell us where she is closeted, and so you must push aside your petty differences and let the girl do as she pleases. What harm can that possibly cause?"

"She was married to-"

"By force George, by force. Do you think she willfully married-"

"You do not know she didnt!" George finally fought back sending Richard to the floor. Edward rose with a sigh, holding them an arms length apart. 

"This is delightfully similar to the way my daughters behave when left unsupervised in my company. For a moment there I saw little Bess in your George and Mary in Dickon. Ah." He smiled, the look of a proud father quickly fading to that of a disappointed brother. "They are children, you are not. And they are girls, with time to do things such as bicker and fight over irrelevances. I expect better from royal Dukes. Dickon, do you not have enough lands to be watching over and George, have you finally finished counting your pennies? Need I give you both more to appease your insufferable differences?"

"This is hardly a matter of who owns what-"

"Really Richard? Because I thought for a moment, unless I am greatly mistaken that you fight over who should own the gaurdianship over Anne Neville. Own DIckon, own. Over who should possess the right to control her, to choose her life and dictate her very being. So until you consider what you to come to me to beg, and George, what you come to me complaining about, consider the impacts it may have on that girls life." He let them both go, returning to his chair, sitting resting back. Fingers lightly rubbing at his temples. "When you both reach an age of maturity return, I shall consider your squabbles then. Otherwise, come to an agreement yourselves, and prove you can act like men not children." 

"Are you quite well brother?" It was George who noticed, approaching cautiously whilst Richard began a careful retreat. 

"I am tired George, exhausted from endless gossip and sleepless nights. I have little time or patience for affairs and questions. Kindly stop probing as though actually care for my health. Leave my presence and do as you normally do. Find dear Margaret and plot against me as you always have done." Richard stopped, looking back toward his kinsmen. None failed to notice the stricken look upon Georges face, the astonishment, the surfacing of a hidden resentment which brought a smile to Edwards lips. "You thought I was clueless? Nay, but I am growing tired of showing you mercy you do not deserve. Now get out of my sight before I am inclined to remove you." He waved a hand, Turning away as the doors opened behind him, the sound of children laughing filling the air. George left in silence as his nieces descended upon their father in a succession of blond, flying hair. 

Margaret Beaufort hummed as she brushed the princesses hair. Henry sat behind her, newly returned from France. Already he was scoring high in the kings favours, earning time away from valuable studies and the duties of wardship to England's king, Elizabeth giggled, reaching up to kiss Margarets cheek. "Lady mother says you were queen once."

"I was."

"What happened? Did papa get bored of you as he gets bored of mother?"

"Bored of the queen? Elizabeth you must not say such." Margaret stepped away fetching a head dress for the beautiful girl who sat in the chair. A girl who shrugged her away objecting to the heavy object. 

"It's true mother." Henry stood, approaching, taking the head dress and placing it back in the cupboard. "They do not suit her and she does not wear them. The king does not wish his daughters to look like married women whilst they do still toddle holding their nurses hands. "And the king tires of Elizabeth, she barely ventures to his rooms now. Each time she does he sees she's a belly full of babe so she wont return for nigh on a year."

"Henry, you dont choose when you are with child."

"No? Well, he seems to have enough success! His wife seems never to be without child and his mistresses have their shares! He has a child each month I'd swear it."

"Henry, to speak so openly about the king, you risk treason!"

"He is lenient."

"Growing less so, Henry he has suffered much. Doubtless he will grow tired of this."

"Tired of what?"

"People, his court always talking when he cannot hear. None dare speak to him of their grievances."

"And you are innocent of such a crime?" Elizabeth Woodville spoke in a cool tone as she approached her daughter, snatching the childs hair from Margaret's hand, making the girl jump at the sudden tug. A tug her mother showed little remorse for. "You sit here and talk of him before his daughter. Before also the most precious of gems." Once the queen had tied her daughters hair, she approached the cradle lifting from it the silk swathed prince. She lifted the infant to her face, kissing him gently. "The words this child hears should not be treason, should not be against his father whilst the good king is absent. Poor child, little Edward. To think, when he is king people will speak of him so... tactlessly."

"Madam, we said nothing bad." Henry objected.

"Of course you didn't." Her eyes bore into him, she smiled offering the child no comfort. Margaret Beaufort shuddered. The room felt suddenly cold as the queen showed clear anger. 

"Lady mother its true!" The princess spoke in a shaking voice. "They said nothing bad against my lord father."

"I would hope not. Now come Bess. Would you like to see the look on Papa's face when I tell him the good news?"

"Good news ma mere?"

"I am once again with child."

Margaret sighed with happiness as the queen left the room. Her hand rested on Henry's shoulder. She felt him tremble and kissed his cheek, stroking the soft skin at his face, brushing hair away from his eyes. "Dear Henry, mayhap you should return to your duties in the kings company."

"He dismissed me lady mother. I know not his reasons why."

The royal whim, all she knew is how strange it could be. How people could rise and fall without the need for explanation. Was that not what happened to her after all?

He startled awake, sitting in bed panting. Beads of sweat dampened his forehead. His hair heavy with moisture. The room was humid, as stuffy as any night had been in Burgundy. Yet he shivered at the cold touch of his own skin. Images projected themselves, spinning in his head, taunting, plaguing. Repeating themselves in endless cycles. The words, noises, the memories each forcing their way into his mind. It mattered little how he tried to push it aside. All efforts could be spared, it was futile to try. More and more each day he thought of it. When darkness fell he could not avoid it. His lungs grew heavy as he fought for breath, wiping moisture from his skin. Each breath came as coughs, growing rapid, his head spun as the heat began to burn his skin. He closed his eyes, tried to escape, pain rose as the voices grew louder. His heart raced, trying to break free from his chest. It grew too real. He struggled, simple tasks soon seemed impossible. Trying hard to throw the covers for fear they would soon smoulder, burning with them flesh and later bone until there was nothing. He failed, panic stricken with blurring vision he cried out. His hand reaching quickly for the dagger he failed to find. 

"Shh" The voice was gentle. Among his delusions, he thought he imagined it. Then her hand touched his, making him jump before she pushed him back with gentle force. He laid, momentarily paralysed among the cushions of his bed. He was in his chambers once more, safe. The men had gone, the fire burned away. The chill of the English night gracing his skin, as welcome then as all the angels of heaven. 

Anne Neville sat, her hand resting on the King's head. His skin as hot as fire, his eyes burning with the fear only hell could strike into a man. He quivered under her touch, control failed him she knew. Each shiver involuntary, each movement a defence. For a moment he lay silent, still. Her fingers rested at his throat, his heart raced. She watched his eyes close, felt his muscles tense before once more he sat, this time taking himself from the bed. "Your grace should not, Edward, I fear you are most unwell."

"Worry not Anne-"

"It plagues you does it not? The memories of all they did to you. But you are safe now."

"No, I am not. For whilst I am surrounded by men they plot their treason."

"You avoided my question."

"I would answer it to no avail."

"Edward..." She sighed, approaching. Her hands slipped around his waist, palms touching smooth masculine skin. Fingers effortlessly gliding over soft blond hairs. He said nothing, smiling as her hands pulled him closer, turning him slowly so finally they faced, her hands lingering at his hips. "your grace should return to bed. When your memories are gone, perhaps we can all sleep easier." She walked him slowly to the bed, pushing him effortlessly onto the mattress. Her instincts setting in, she pulled the coverlets over his body, laying silently next to him, her head sinking into pillows. She knew she would not sleep that night, not as she watched each silent movement progress into a fitful sleep disturbed with whimpering, coughs and muffled screams. She longed to help him, if only she could know how.


	43. Chapter 43

Anne Neville hummed as she folded fabrics. Dressed in the kings own colours, a chamber maid for all who saw her. Edward she knew had spent hours, he himself had sewn her disguise. He himself she knew now was a master at disguises. Even Lord Hastings failed to notice her as he entered to conduct his morning duties. His eyes went from the king to the fire, an empty fireplace. "You there. Why is the kings fire unlit? Jesu he is freezing. Edward?" She watched as the kings hand reached for Hastings. He rolled, head sinking back into pillows for exhaustion.

"Do not light it. No fires are to be started, none." 

"But the queen-"

"None! If she wishes a fire... She must go to Windsor. She must, I insist. Prince Edward is to follow. My children they are not safe." 

"Now Edward-"

" I do not want my word disputed. They are to go to Windsor." 

"Of course your grace. Will you be-" 

"No. Now leave me." 

William Hastings rose, leaving the chamber in confusion. He was soon to exit the kings apartments, colliding with the queen as she charged toward her husbands chambers. "Your grace must not."

"Pardon?" She looked at him, cold eyes unamused at his intrusion into what she deemed her right.

"The king is abed and he is seeing none cept a physician. That I am afraid includes your grace. As your time is to be spent preparing for your journey I am sure you will find much to do." 

"Journey?" Her heart stopped. Her daughters words coming back to her. Had Edward grown bored of her? Could it be true? Had he found a woman with which to replace her? Would she becoming the image of Margaret Beaufort? A past queen longing for favour.. Surely he could not, she granted him a son and his numerous lovers. She had done all. How could he tire of her and replace her without warning. "Sir William where am I to go?"

"Windsor your grace. For the king sees the air there more fit for your condition. He wishes you warm and safe away from London. Your children are to be with you. Your household also." 

"And lady Margaret? Tell my husband my lord that I tire of his cast offs and wish her to remain at Westminster. Or return to Pembroke where truly she belongs." The queen left as Hastings bowed. He would deliver no such message.  
He had never liked the Lancaster woman, never found her a good queen. The wedding had been a sham and the marriage designed for convenience. It was no union but a punishment and she had used the crown to serve her interests. But he would return her to the throne in a second over the woman who now possessed the crown. He would do nothing to offer her comfort. 

 

 

He had barely ventured from his bed. Wrapped in cloaks of fox fur he sat silently. Paying no attention to the woman as she paced up and down the room. "Richard is worried, he is panic stricken. He demands to see her, demands to know where she has gone and George knows nothing. There will come a time my sweeting that you will need to confess she is here." Cecily Neville finally sat, looking across at the son she had treasured for almost thirty years. His face drained of energy, his eyes tired and dull. He nodded with little commitment, pulling the cloaks around him more. "Edward if you are cold have the fire made. This room could use-"

"No."

"Edward." She took his hand, looking to the girl who sat upon his bed. She nodded, calling for fire wood before retreating to the anti chamber. "None will hurt you here." 

"You said when I was king none would hurt me." Subconsciously he scratched the mark at his arm. The light pink brand from his childhood. He winced. 

"And I was wrong. I had never envisioned Warwick turning against-" she fell silent as men began to stack the fire bringing it to sparks as Edward watched, eyes closing briefly as flames began to crackle. He stood, moved away. Cecily sighed, watching as he opened the door allowing the Neville girl freedom as the other door closed. "You must tell him." 

"George will know." 

"He will not hurt her in your protection." 

"And Dickon will want her in his own protection. He can be a fool some times." 

"Men are fools." Cecily smiled, waving her hand as she sipped wine. "But what are your intentions with the girl? As a married man they are surely not as honourable as your dear brothers." Anne looked up but said nothing. Richard wanted to marry her? Then why had he made no effort before Lancaster? Why had he not walked to his brother and told him? She sighed. Why were men always so blind? She could not leave Edwards company now, with George and Richard bickering over her as though she were goods to be sold at market. The king needed her, he was loath to admit it, but he needed her to be there when no one else could. He had dismissed Elizabeth and barred his rooms at night. But he was never alone, how he knew he was never alone. She smiled, pretending she heard nothin of the conversation before her, as Edward laid down excuses, as Cecily listened before tearing each one apart. He was losing, she saw it in his eyes. He would soon be sure to give her over to the highest bidder - and that would doubtless be Cecily Neville herself. 

"What if I wish not to leave?" Both sets of eyes fell on her. "What if I do not wish to marry again-"

"But you are smitten with young Richard sweeting we have known it for years." Cecily smiled, trying to reassure the girl. She took none.

"I like my life as it is. Private and free. Besides. Neglect it as you all may your son" she turned to Edward "your grace is most in need of attention. Attention I might offer him." 

For a moment Cecily lost colour. Looking between the two for messages, for indication that what she suspected was true. It took a moment before Edward laughed, his normal contagious, joyous laugh. "Good heavens no ma mere! I am not one to hide my affairs. But this is too much.  
I would not press the fine lady nor ask her in my bed. She is virtuous! She would not. I would not. I have Lisbet."

"Who will have your babe at Windsor 3 months from now. Need I say, your marriages have never stopped you before. Pray tell how did Elizabeth become-"

"Your point is made. Do not displease me." 

"Both of you! Aunt Cecily. I am not your sons mistress. He has been naught if not noble. His actions fit for a gentleman." Cecily sighed and nodded watching the girl as she rose. "I will choose who I marry and when and where I stay with whom. Till Edward no longer wants me in his presence I will stay!" She walked quickly slamming the door behind her. 

"So we won't be discussing her marriage?" 

"Evidently not mother." He rose, rolling his eyes as he followed her. 

 

"Anne!" He tried to run, settled for a limp. "Anne stop!" She did, leaning against a wall, tears leaving her eyes. "Don't cry, why do you cry sweeting?" 

"Because you all fight to control my life. None of you ask where I want to be or who I love. Who I want to marry or if. Edward am I not a widow free to marry at my choosing?" 

"Of course, but Anne we do this for you. For your best interest. You love Dickon do you not?" 

"I do, but not as much as I love another." She looked away. "You acted as though nothing has ever happened between us." She felt him tense as she cleared the distance between them. "But it did. And you ignored it!"

"Anne please-"

"No! When you cry in the night who is there. Who? Your wife? Margaret? Or me?"

"Anne listen-"

"No Edward no. Damn you no! You mocked your mothers suggestion. You mocked her thinking you would lay with me-"

"Because I love you! Damn, I love you enough not to take you as my mistress."

"You love me?" She stopped, her hand shaking as he took it in his own. 

"I love you like no other. But I cannot have you as my wife so I will not, I will. Not have you Anne. So I cannot admit I love you, not unless you demand my heart to break." Neither spoke another word, as their lips sealed, muting their words.


	44. Chapter 44

She moved, her head nudging against soft fabric as she shivered, trying desperately to warm herself. She reached, pulled silk over her and smiled. Her senses alight. Amber Gris, rose, mint... He filled her nostrils and suddenly she was warm. Suddenly it was as though he brought her back to life. Only this prince had no need to kiss her. She startled as she felt movement beneath her head. Eyes opening she looked around. Morning sun was filling the chamber, the fireplace was cold and she lay on the kings own couch, stealing body heat from the kings own person. She smiled. Trying hard to stop the blood rushing to her cheeks. A failed attempt as his hand brushed her cheek. "Anne?" His voice was light, heavy with sleep. Still he moved enough to kiss her, moved enough so her head rested against his shoulder, the scent from his neck intoxicating, controlling her being. There was nothing she could do as her lips touched the skin at his neck, his chin lifted as she peppered his skin with delicate kisses, her hand stroked rough male cheek. "Anne, this time is not-" he laughed as she cut off his words, her tongue gliding over his. Their mouths danced, their bodies edging closer. Her hand now stroked over his chest, fingers lingering in blond hair she tugged lightly to pull him up. He was hers in an instant. She broke the kiss, their eyes meeting, begging the other. 

"We should not should we Edward?"

He said nothing only kissed her again, shedding the shirt from his body as she ripped the fabric clean down it's centre, her hands slipped lower, his higher. She felt his fingers lingering at her thighs. Her eyes closed and then it was over. The doors crashed open. "Damn it! Did I not tell you to knock?" Edward pulled his cloak around her. Shielding her face from the men who entered. She blushed, curious how he could be so accustomed to interruptions, how he could be so comfortable, so in control despite his blatant vulnerability. She watched by the mirror as the servants dispersed each muttering apologies as Edward cursed. "And tell my lord Hastings he will not be needed this morning! He should stay away lest he wishes a separate head and body!" Then he slammed the doors, she heard the bar slip into it's lock, heard his feet. He didn't return. Sighing she looked to him. She needed to say nothing. "Annie. I never knew it would be us."

"What do you mean?"

"George and Isabel. You and Dickon." He sighed. "I married Elizabeth because I thought I loved her. I do, in some ways. She is a queen you could never be-"

He heard her almost silent sob. Looked, she tried to smile. "You mean she's beautiful and fair?"

"Heavens no! I mean she's cold and ruthless. She has a heart but I swear it took it's last beat when I met her by that oak. She is merciless. You could not be. You are kind and loving to those who are little deserving of such love. Who could have been your death for their misjudgment."

"I never knew you felt that way." She rose, approaching him, gently looping her arms around his shoulders. "I forgive you."

"Elizabeth does not."

"She resents you sending me to Lancaster?"

He offered a sad smile. "No, she regrets me bringing you back. That day, she made it so clear." He shuddered. "She was less than happy, and would kill me if ever she knew what I was about to do." He turned, kissed her suddenly, pulling her onto his lap before he stood. Taking her gracefully to his bed where his hands continued their mastery until noon. 

 

Both lay silent, her head upon his naked chest, male sweat delighting her nostrils, tingling her nerves. He was closer than ever he had been, and gentle. Suddenly he had changed to her. One moment he had been a servant of gods, higher than she and untouchable. Now he was flesh, man, he was mortal and she had seen such. He bled like another, felt pleasure and pain and enjoyed the senses, the feelings and emotions of another. Experiences she once thought Edward of York, her true king would never feel. She heard his breaths I'm rapid pants, his chest rising and falling. She giggled as her head followed his breaths. "I'd heard rumours."

"Rumours?" He smiled, fingers toying with the ends of her hair. He was exhausted, yet forced his eyes to open so he could see her. So he could observe her full beauty. Her giggle filled his ears, then his heart as she looked up, her hand still stroking over the still sensitive skin at his thigh. He jolted, .smiling.

"Surely you know!" She blushed her hand touching slightly north as she reached up, hot breaths touching his ear before she whispered. "Each man is an artist, the women court say this is your art, and it is truly splendid." She smiled as she looked at him, blushing as he laughed, wrapping an arm around her.

"How they know makes me curious." He saw the look upon her face and sighed. "You hear it too? That I am, to put it so delicately, an conessieour of women." He scoffed. "If only they knew. I think in part it attracts the ladies in the court, intrigues them. That they should think they would have opportunity to take my bed and-" he laughed and kissed her. "In truth? Two women graced this bed as lovers. Elizabeth, and you." 

"But what of Margaret-"

"Please. I did not lie when I said out marriage was unconsummated. We lay together at our wedding night, but we did not touch." 

"But the women you bring, Edward there are scores every night!" 

"I like their company. Would not make them leave in hours of darkness. They sleep as you did upon the couch. Else I sleep there and they take my bed."

"Mistress Shore."

"Jane? Oh she is a delightful character. She wished to be away from her husband. I granted such." 

"But-"

"What do I gain you'll ask. I am unlike the late lord Warwick. There does not need to be gain of any sorts. I gain pleasure knowing they are happy and safe." 

"So the court talk is lies?" She felt him nod, jolting as her hand slipped. He inhaled sharply gripping the coverlets. "Why do you not fight it?" Her fingers stroked softly, he sighed, smiled. Her words fading momentarily. 

"It is not worth it. To deny them would embed them as truth. I would not do myself good to deny them, so I do not." He gulped, unable to speak as the coverlets formed tents over Anne's work. She smiled, kissed his lips, trailing them in slow succession south. 

 

 

"Your grace." He had left his chambers minutes before. Hastings already needed to grab his attention. He nodded, waving a hand for his friend to follow. Listening as the man spoke quickly in a hurried tone. "The queen your grace, she sends word to you that disaster struck at Windsor." 

"Disaster? I can see-"

"The plague your grace."

"She is okay? She lives?" He had not stopped or broken stride. Continuing to walk, pausing only to sign paper as lord Stanley delivered it to him, dismissing each with a tired wave. 

"Alas, she is most hard hit."

"Are you telling me Will that she will die? Then I cannot visit Windsor-"

"That her mother died the eve past. That she lost the babe she carried and that your grace, your son, prince Edward is at Windsor. His nurses fled."

"Fled? Why?" The king turned, returning to his chamber grabbing needed belongings. "Get a horse I shall fetch my son."

"Your grace must not-"

"Do you think I care of illness? My children are there! My children Will." He left quickly, taking stairs three at a time against Hastings advice as the chamberlain followed closely, tripping where Edward sprang. "Boat, that's the fastest way. Can we send word ahead?" 

"The meaning of fastest your grace is we would arrive first." 

"I am not a fool."

"No, I would not suggest you were. But distressed, the situation is-" 

"One which requires speed."

"Still, it would please me for you to stay. I shall fetch the children, return them to you I will it not you should catch-" 

"I shall I go. For Elizabeth. She will need to return."

"She will be wrath is Christmas court is not held at Windsor."

"William, my friend, I will be wrath if the Christmas court is not held at Windsor."

"I will add it to my list of jobs your grace."

"List?" Edward smiled as he stepped onto the barge. "Dear god man, you thieve from me! I thought by now you had a book of chores." 

"No your grace, I would with slower hands than mine. Doubtless you will keep writing your books though."

"Doubtless Will. I may run out if jobs."

"Your grace, that will never happen."


	45. Chapter 45

For days physicians had been running, back and forth between rooms, Each tried to place an explanation onto the events of the past week. Nurses scurried with water, with herbs. The queen had been pacing, running through the halls trying desperately to grab the kings attention. An act which for days had failed as he sat beside the cradle, carrying the child each time he cried, rocking him as he whimpered and coughed. All had given in, all had said the prince would die, and then it had been sudden. One moment he had been ill and the next he had been better. Recovered under the care of the old queen, Margaret Beaufort herself. The woman now sat in the kings presence chamber, awaiting the meeting he had demanded with her. She knew nothing of what to expect, Edward she had been told would be kind to her. He would show her his full gracious nature, tell her of how thankful the royal household was and would reward her greatly, with jewels and gold in as much weight as pleased her to own. Their words had not convinced her. No matter how kind Edward was, how sweet and friendly he could be , but he had never shown this side to her. He had never granted her a want. 

She looked up as Hastings moved, shifting his weight. He looked up, smiled. The woman often infuriated him, thinking that she was superior, that she had the rights of a queen. That she still was queen. So many times he had heard speak words close to treason, in accusing Edward of bigamy. Of suggesting that she was still his lawful wife, and still the rightful queen. He favoured her however to the blond witch who held the throne. The witch who had captured Edward's attentions so thoroughly, the witch who had flaunted her own sons illness for her husbands attention, to disregard the princes ill health as a matter of little importance. She had tried during what all thought to the childs final hours to coax her husband to he bed, all to replace the children she had already lost. The woman was cold, possessed by the devil she surely had to be, to disregard her child so thoroughly. To pull a father from his son in the moments where both needed each other. Elizabeth had beauty, in levels Margaret could never possess. But that was all which stood for the queen, her appearance formed the perfect facade. It hid the heart of ice which sat beneath her breast, unbeating and cold. Like a troll turned to stone. He had to stifle his laugh, Margaret glanced again as he spluttered slightly, sipping wine to hide his amusement. Their eyes met briefly, she smiled, brushing her skirts to flaunt her appearance. He saw it then, the motivation all had noted in the woman. She knew what she wanted, knew how to achieve it. 

The royal court was dangerous, Hastings himself had realised such soon. Many a man had fallen at its centre, had risen to the top to quickly fall. Warwick, the greatest of men had been among them. One moment the kings brother in name and cousin blood had gone from beloved kingsmen to attained and murdered traitor. Hastings had feared the worst after Barnet, seeing Warwick dragged from the trees, head split and blood forming a trail behind him. He had known it could so easily have been him. It could still be him. There was not a day he did not fear it, that Edward would awake one morning and hate his presence, that he would fall from favour and soon lose his head. Especially if the Woodville woman had her way. It was secret to none, their hate for one another. Until now, Edward had found it amusing, another reason to keep them close. For their arguments were fuelled by hate so deep it rivalled passionate love. Edward had said it always, if he had not married Elizabeth, he was doubtless certain that she would have fallen at Hastings feet and begged to be his bride. For once he had then been thankful for his position, for having married Katherine Neville, the bitchess of Hastings. The woman he wished to see as much as he desired syphilis. He almost laughed again, how his minds digression amused him. Sometimes, one could think he sought his whores for that very purpose. So he would have no need to see his wife. 

He forced himself back to the matter of interest. As Margaret Beaufort tapped her fingers on her knees, waiting for Edward to finally arrive he knew what she was thinking, knew of the words she would have heard at court. The witch was medelling again. This time in affairs way above her standing, this time, Edward had told her. She had insisted at the weeks beginning on two changes at Westminster. One, that Richard of Gloucester should soon be wed. When asked by the king her answer had been simple. She grew tired of Georges everr growing involvement at court, his manipulation of the Neville inheritance. She grew increasingly paranoid of the effects it would have, the influence he would gain. His heart ached, how he hated to agree with her but he knew she was right. For George to inherit the Neville fortune in its full would be a royal disaster like none England had seen. But, all held firm in their opinions. The woman should keep out of the royal affairs, she had no say in who the duke of Gloucester should marry. She had no knowledge of where the Neville girl was. As Edward had indeed pointed out, finally accusing her of witchcraft should she - for God himself knew where the girl was, and God knew also that only a witch could have found such information. Her second rule had involved the woman who sat silently now. That had been the demand to see Elizabeth shunned by her husband. She had insisted on the removal of Henry Tudor from the court. She had said the boy grew too old to be in the Kings company, That he should finish his wardship in Yorkshire, as far away from the king as he could be. 

All had seen through it, Edward too, with dire consequences. Hastings wiped sleep from his eyes, yawning. The royal couple had spent their night at logger-heads, fighting over her attempted influence over the King. An influence which Edward grew tired of. The row had soon turned sour, Elizabeth had stormed from the room, the door locking soon after. Hastings rose, hearing footsteps approach, quickly moving to open the door as his master entered. For a moment no one spoke, as the full extent of last nights disagreements stood prominent on Edwards face. His eyes bruised and cheek cut. Margaret rose silently, curtsying, her eyes downcast. She said nothing as he sat, a hand supporting an aching back. "WIll, I know you are dying to comment. Ask your questions tactfully."

"Is your grace well, it's all I require to know."

"Regretfully not. But, there is little point in complaining now. Lady Margaret and I have matters to discuss. Matters of importance." He turned to her, taking her hand in a surprisingly affectionate gesture. "So my dear, is your health fine?"

"As the sun on a summers day, as the sun your grace brings out with a smile."

"Flattery is not necassary, but the compliment is noted and we are thankful." He smiled, looking to her. "I thank you also for your efforts in returning the prince of Wales to health."

"It was my duty your grace."

"You went beyond your duty."

"I spoke to God as I would if the child has been my little Henry-"

"It is about Henry I call you here." He smiled as her hands began to shake. Hastings sat forward in his chair, watching her, watching him. Had the witch won as she inflicted her violence? Had he submitted to her will because she had finally beaten his power? "I wish to make him my heir, after any male issue I should produce." All sat momentarily stunned. No one spoke until Edward laughed breaking the silence. "Yes, I am sure of my decision. The papers are in order, I simply need you to agree."


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thought I would change this. And the stories route. I was searching for an idea when you all seemed dissatisfied. It will mean some people will not be born who should have been but :) well the idea seemed quite good

Anne Neville hummed as she cleaned, Edward had not asked her. Would not she knew. That would make it all the better when he returned to find the rooms as they both wanted them. She smiled, arranging flowers Hastings has brought to her, picked from the gardens in their prime. Turning she surveyed the room, the tingle of pride filled her. This room was so suddenly alive, the fruit bowl upon the table, the fire burning even against the kings command. Each splashing life into a room otherwise desolated from love or attention. Pained from her efforts but proud of them she sat. Eyes closing, her hands fell to her sides. She shuffled, again. Dust made her cough as it rose like smoke from the cushions. 

Sighing she rose, lifting the cushions, banging them together before the fire. She stopped, lifting the crumpled parchment as it fell. Tucking the cushions under her arms she opened it, noting the cracked seal of the pope. Her mouth was suddenly dry, her hands shaking against control. She had judged the situation terribly. A letter she had assumed to be older than time now hung a price above her head. One she had never expected. 

 

Your Grace

With respect to your suggested annulment. Although the church soundly respects your desires to remarry and produce heirs, The Lord does see marriage as a contract of benefit to his people. Regrettable though it maybe that your queen is Barron and from your words your bed cold, it seems no reason to grant annulment.   
Consultation of the scriptures and direct word from god would have me deny the right of your grace to remarry. For too much now would be lost. For peace of England, your soul and the church, the annulment is denied. 

His holy emperor, gods loyal servant 

Pope Sixtus

 

She folded it quickly, placing it in the purse of her bag with seconds to spare. She was quick, ensuring the cushions were back upon the chair as the doors opened to their full. The king entered, followed closely by the first of his guests she had seen since her arrival from George's grasp. Her heart stopped, Richard of Gloucester had been laughing, then their eyes had met. All suddenly fell silent. "You, you had her here? I scored the country. Ed.. Edward what is this?" 

"Love, protection, caring."

"Love? You love her?" He turned back to Anne. "Do you love him?" Richards voice sounded so strained, Edwards eyes bore into her. Neither man had need to say a word as she rose, curtsied. 

"I love his grace of course. But wish not to cause rifts within a noble family. I see you have private musings you need talk of. I will take to the outer chamber. With your leave your grace." She walked slowly toward the door, curtsying to Richard as he opened them. She heard the sounds of raising voices as they slammed behind her. All were Richards, none the kings she knew. She cared little, checking for the paper crumpled in her purse she hurried. There was no way now that she could stay, with a letter which had for years been hidden, been lost. Which had for years been unseen, been the kings own secret. A secret men would die for, a secret women would be hunted like deer to keep. She could not stay at court, nor look at him the same again. 

Her feet carried her within control through the halls of Westminster, down the stone stairs toward the kitchen. Servants milled talking by the fire, men and women hurried with baskets of everything she could imagine. None she was thankful seemed to notice her. She was quick, moving in the shadows to the laundry room she had known for months to be hidden deep within the servants quarters. Her hand reached the handle. She slipped inside, greeted by linen and wool of cheap quality. She shuddered, only to imagine it's feel against her skin was torture. If she was to escape however she could not swipe the clothes of a courtier. Her disguise had to be among the best. She snatched some garments, quick to tackle the strings of her bodice, swapping it's restraint for a cotton shirt and leather doublet. Her silken skirts for woollen hose. The velvet slippers she traded for peasants boots of weaved fabric. Course on her feet and miles extending from the end of her toes. She cared little. Covering her hair with a straw hat she hurried up the stairs she had descended. No attention paid as she reached the main hall, no guards to stop her at the palace doors. "Aye ya Bonny lad! Be back before dark, his grace demands these gates closed at 9." One man laughed. 

"the demonsll have him if they aren't." The other sneered. She did not stop to tell them of her influence, of how the king would act if he knew of how they talked about him. Instead she hurried, too aware that fate would befall her if only he looked for that letter. 

 

She had disappeared, for it he saw no reason. It puzzled his brain like his jesters riddles, festering to the deepest parts. Hastings had searched the palace, Dickon, George and Henry too. None had found Anne Neville. Not even a trace of her delicate being. Months had passed since he had found cause to panic, now it took him so utterly his blood pulsed cold through his veins. Why had she left? What cause did she have? 

He walked, half trapped inside his own imagination. Each woman had Anne's face. Each man was a demon. Shadows lurked where before they had not, forming shapes so sinister he almost cried. He stumbled, caught by a woman. Her basket fell to the floor, laundry spilled across the stones. "Forgive me sir, I should not-"

"No the fault is mine I-" he stopped, his hands pausing on that dress as he helped the woman clear the clothes. "Where was this?"

"In the servants laundry sir." 

"You're sure?"

"Quite sure sir, I did think it odd. Is it your wife's? You look shocked sir." 

"My wife? No. A woman more sacred than my wife. Thank you madam." He handed her the purse as it fell from the dress. "Take it's contents for reward. Hastings!" He grabbed the chamberlain as he emerged, forcing the dress into his hands.

The laundress watched as the men retreated from her view. Her finger fumbling the purse, her knees still bent in curtsy. How much of a fool she had been. Sir? Sir? She scolded herself. That man had been the king, for the first time in her months working here, she had seen him. He was every bit as handsome as Jane had said. She dare not ask if he was every bit as good in his night time pursuits. Instead she giggled, lifting the basket and walking as she opened the purse. Parchment and coins. The first of which she would have Perkin look at later. Maybe it would tell her the name of the woman his grace was so keen to find. The woman more desirable than even the queen.


	47. Chapter 47

The smell of London's streets was ripe, prominent but most of all, putrid. Two weeks and she had not yet grown used to the smell as she had thought perhaps she might. Her head was down as her hands worked. Still dressed the clothes of a peasant boy none had asked her questions. How queer it all seemed, how she had been expected to be interviewed of the court. But none did seem to care. Anne Neville had always wondered how life was outside the courts; how those people of normal birth lived. Just how royal life impacted their own. The answer she found was not at all. 

No man in London cared for the kings health, knew the princes name. No man mentioned the royals and nobles - unless they were passing through. Then it seemed only a measure of protection, to hide their ignorance and save their necks. No one had spoken to her, except for the man who called himself her teacher. And he was like no teacher she had ever seen. Lessons she had believed were always in the classroom, taught by men of learned nature. Taught of reading and penmanship. Of making quills, or counting money, or learning to make marchepane and sweetmeats. Then she had become an apprentice. That had started her world anew, how soon she had learned that learning was not a classroom sport. 

Her father had told her of the nil educated men and women who lay outside the walls of noblemens castles. Of course, she had believed him. believed him too when he had said it was for their feeble minds they did not learn, that God had made them weak and that their purpose was menial work, was the chores for those uneducated. They were not uneducated, not weak. The peasant class had strength which she had never before seen. Even their women, though dressed in little more than ragged skirts, their hair knotted and their faces dark with the dirt of a hard days work - even they, especially they worked harder than all. They could do anything, with the strength of any warrior king and his army. 

Until this time, Anne had looked upon one woman to be strongest of them all. The influence, the lady she had always wanted to be. But for all except her parental rule, Cecily Neville seemed a fail woman. A woman who in all her years had failed to conduct a real job. She looked up as men approached. "Adam!" Her teacher spoke loud, she stood quickly, as by now she knew was expected. "Adam this is Sam, he's the new boy I told you about needs to learn how to make rope he does. And how to make it as fine as you. He has little fingers, but strong hands." The man ruffled the boys hair over his cap. "Look after him, his father would furious if aught happened to him. He's a merchant yano."

"A merchant?" Anne asked the boy himself, using a hand to tap the ground next to her, encouraging him to sit and watch as her hands worked quickly to make their wage. "What is his name?"

"Thomas. Meester Thomas Sweeper." He smiled, looking proud of his fathers name. Anne smiled, her ears pricked as she tried hard to understand the boys words. His accent was thick, course and hard upon her ears. 

"What does he sell?"

"Ought really, if it's cheap or free."

"He's a thief?"

"Tats wha' they call im' aye."

"He thieves? From who?"

"The palace. One of the guards, the king don' notice they say. I 'lieve it really. Dumb royal blood. Neveer had to work a day his life!"

"That's not true!" She gained herself unwanted attention. 

"Quiet! You'll get us hung!" he smiled, trying to deflect the attention of the passing men. Merhcnants of higher standing than the thief they had been talking of. "My father aint a thief righ'? Ar' taxes go on tha'. Surely we have right to hold silver too. We work to the bone to pay the royal way and lay food on tables for noble brats bu' see nothin' o' it. Why is tha' the way?"

"Becuase God intended it."

"God intended it? God intended-" he burst out laughing. "Are you the bastard son a priest?"

"No." She stood her foot stamping.

"You're orphaned though reet?"

"That's none of your business." She stormed off. Returning to the household which had taken her in. Sitting in front of a smoke rich fire smelling of wood and horse dung. It was an instant later the women were upon her. That was all she could be thankful for, the women of the house whose men had died in battle at Tewkesbury. All caring, all loving and happy to have a male person back in the house. Happy enough to grant her the second room. Happy enough to have allowed her secrets to remain her own.

 

 

"Where did you get these?" Perkin scolded the girl as he held the parchment. She was on her knees in front of him, sobbing already from his first reaction to the letters she had handed him. All she had wanted was them reading, to find out who the girl was, to whom she should give the purse. It had not been the kings to give, in an instant of taking it she had felt bad. Now she felt worse. Perkin had refused to read the letters aloud, now he held them closed in his fist. Crumpled and close to the fire. "Where you foolish girl?" 

"The king, he gave me them."

"Nonsense! Why would he give you these? Less he told you to burn them! He is no fool he'd have tossed them on the fire himself." 

"Are they bad?"

"Silence! You have no right to speak. You have brought death upon us all girl!" He looked at the purse she had handed him, tipped the coins from it slipping them into his own, placing the parchment back into the purse. he watched her sob, throwing the silk pocket down to her. "You can go to his grace an' tell him/"

"Perkin I know not what they-"

"You can show them to him then. I am sure he will grant you as much as an extract before he has burnt for treason." 

"But I commit no treason. I love the king! and the queen! The children too. I do nothing-"

"He will see it differently I assure you." He lifted her by her elbow, forcing her to jog beside him. Up the stairs and into the palace. Looks instantly passed to them by nobles and courtiers. Even the courts set of well dressed fools stopped their jibes to stare. Perkin knew the sight was unseemly, one which royalty would hate to see. One which King Edward himself would wrath in all senses of the word to know had occured so close to his presence. Perkin would usually have avoided such attention, avoided the risk of such powerful conflict. He had made a point since his earliest days, working in the court of King Henry, he had avoided the lavish halls of the royal court. He had avoided their gay celebrations and their high class looks. But now he had no choice. Now he had to save himself, save his family. Even if that meant this foolish girl blubblng her heart to the king whilst he signed her death warrant. 

He walked quickly, the girl still crying as he pulled her with force, speed toward the great hall. Stopped by men dressed in blue and silver, the colours of Sir Anthony Woodville. "Servants are not permitted in the hall."

"My Lord, I beg you this girl, she commits treason."

"What makes you say such?" Anthony spoke, leaning against the wood panels, his eyes falling over the girl before him. It wasn't long before they had gained attention. Her tears, her loud sobs had drawn men from the deepest corners of the court. Anthony sighed as Thomas Grey joined him, Richard of Gloucester and William Hastings too. All eyes fixed upon the girl as she fell to her knees with trembling sobs. 

"She owns a letter of the kings most personal and private possessions." 

"How know you?" William Hastings sounded shocked, stepping forward he lifted the girls head. Listening to the mans case as he claimed the most unreal of stories. That this girl had danced around the servants quarters with the letter, reading it for all to hear. "She can read? Girl, can you read?" He believed her as she shook her head, trying hard to wipe tears from her eyes. He handed her his handkerchief turning back to the servant man. "I have never known a woman in the serving ranks be blessed with the gift of reading, nor the education to start such a task. You on the other hand sir, may well have the ability to read. So if it is true, and she indeed holds a letter personal to the king, and you should know. I accuse you of reading such, even if to her." 

"She does have it sir."

"You are to call my lord, as it correct for your position." All stared, for none had seen Lord Hastings so caught in his own anger as to speak to any man, peasant or noble, in such a tone. "However, let me see this letter if it is true." His eyes fixed on the man as he approached the sobbing girl, snatching a silken purse from her hand. Hastings took it from the man as the soft fabric touched his palm. Drawing it open he tipped the contents, reading over the letter. His face lost colour. "Men, taking them both to the tower. I want to hear no word on this. Have them gagged, their tongues removed if that is what it takes. I want them silenced! The king can decide what to do with them presently." With those words and shaking hands, Hastings retreated to find the king, closing every door behind him. Not even Richard of Gloucester could hear what was written on this letter. For if Clarence was to find out, or Margaret Beaufort herself, it would spell damnation for their Yorkist king.


	48. Chapter 48

_Stupid.... Stupid...._

How could he been so stupid? Edward paced up and down the room. So much made sense now, everything had fallen into sudden and unfortunate place. That was why she had left so suddenly, left without a further word. Damn her! He should have known better, should have thought. He should never have left her unattended in his own personal chambers. What had he been thinking? No matter, the peasants had been hung, their threat silenced. The letter now sat in a smouldering pile beneath the flames. It was no more, it was where for years it should have been. William Hastings sat silently, sipping wine. Their eyes met on occasion, before the chamberlain looked hurriedly away. Something had changed between them Edward knew, something which would never be returned to him. Their friendship was somehow less golden, somehow unpure. Of course, Will would be fearing an execution. Fearing that Edward wouldbe forced to destroy all who knew. 

Poor Hastings.

If only he knew. The king of England could never remove the head of his friend. Will could have taken arms with Warwick he would still be at his side today. His childhood friend, his loyal supporter. His remaining memory of Edmund... No poxy letter with a papel seal would change that. To execute Hastings would be to destroy the House of York, to removethe foundations on which his country was built. Loyalty, bravery and honour. All of which Hastings had displayed. "I will not send you to The Tower. Stop looking so greensick and sorry for yourself."

"I am greensick and sorry for you Your Grace."

"Me?" Edward scoffed, trying not to laugh. "Why me?"

"You know as well as I what this letter means. Destroyed or not she knows."

"Who?" 

"Anne Neville. She knows."

"And is gone, that means she will keep her silence."

"And you can be sure?"

"I am certain of nothing, but I am sure she will hold her tongue. What would she gain? Those who stand to gain are my brother George and Margaret."

"You mean your wife?"

"I mean Lady Beaufort Will! Do not push on this. She is not queen and never was!" 

"That is a lie! Stop denying this to yourself! She is queen if you are king and Elizabeth? She is nothing but your doxy! Your whore, and Warwick was right. Your children? They are not princes but imposers. Henry stands at more right to your throne than does Edward and you keep so cool about this and wonder why i am greensick with fear for those you opt to call your family? Are you are aware even remotely what will happen if Clarence does find out? Or Gloucester for that matter. Because your brother Richard may be loyal now. But if George dies he is your heir by law. Many men have been corrupted for less."

"You need not spend your time telling me such. i am aware Hastings. I myself fear for Elizabeth, fear for my children but naught can be done now. I was rash-"

"You were foolish."

"Fine then, I was foolish in my decisions. But regretting does nothing when the act is done."

"It is sinful."

"And I will pray for my rendemption every night. I will pray that my children, that my wife be blessed to heaven. But Hastings we must act as nothing happened."

"When Antony knows?"

"He knows?"

"Not of its content, but of the letter itself? Yes."

"Dear God."

"And I press again for Anne Neville. She knows each word as well as you or I. She is your mot dangerous enemy and you intend to do nothing?"

"What would you have me do? Summon her here by witchcraft so I kill the woman I love?"

"of course not."

"Then silence yourself." Both men looked up as the doors opened. Elizabeth Woodville entered, her hand resting upon her heavy belly. "Elizabeth." The king smiled, sounded relieved as he approached her, his arms enclosing her into a gentle embrace. His lips stroking her cheek. "Oh my sweet Elizabeth. How are the children? The Prince?" 

"He is well my lord husband. Well and happy. He plays well under the care of Lady Beaufort and her son." She stepped back slightly as she felt him tense, her eyes catching his clenched fists. "Edward, is all well?"

"All is fine. I am just happy he is so.... merry in such fine company." It did not escape Elizabeth the way her husbands eyes met Hastings before the chamberlain rose. How he whispered words in Latin she could barely understand. Perhaps her mind was playing tricks upon her, perhaps she had made a mistake. but for only a moment she could have sworn he told Sir William to remove the Prince from his nursery. But that must have been a mistake. 


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last one I am updating for now. Have uni work to get on with.

**Winter 1476**

Rumors had been circulating. Elizabeth Woodville was not queen. The king had struggled to stop them. Staring in London's center they had reached the palace.Margaret Beaufort had been amused, even now as she sat with Edward in his presence chamber she had to work hard to stifle the laugh which ha been begging to escape the entire week. "Who would say such? That you and the-" she stopped, remembering quickly that she sat before the witches husband, the witches husband who happened also be the king. "That you and Elizabeth are not married? Who would start such vicious stories so lacking in truth. I could not imagine that there had been any act of dishonour, that you would shame yourself or her so.... utterly. Of course you are married. Of course." She tried hard to hide the sarcasm which sat at the back of her words, tinting them. 

She could not help herself. It had all been far too easy. George had done his job much as she had wished him to, to discover who in London would dare to start the mumblings. Young men at a rope making shop, and each had been fined severely, one had their ear removed and the other had fled London with speed. George had found out too why the mumblings had started. A young rope maker, Adam Neven had spoken up of words he had heard at court. Words he had heard from the son of a late servant at the court. Perkin Baker. George had searched records, bribed guards and even spoken with William Hastings, but it had been Gloucester who had confirmed everyone's suspicions. That Perkin Baker had been executed two years since, alongside him had been Bridgette Huddington. Both had died in connection with the disappearance which had then shaken the court. The disappearance of the lovely Lady Anne Neville. 

 

Or as Margaret suspected. Young Adam Neven. 

 

"I am please someone believes so."

"Should I not?"

"You should."

"Good, because if you were not married, then I would be queen. We can't be having that now. Henry would be your heir, and your dear sons would be bastards." 

 

"Indeed, but they are not. Because I am married. They are my heirs"  

Margaret nodded, watching as William Hastings rose silently and left, not saying a word to Edward as he dismissed himself from the royal presence. An obvious breach of etiquette which made Edward turn in his chair before cringing at his chamberlains obvious disapproval. "He seems unhappy."

"His wife is unwell."

"I was not aware, I am sorry. What ails her?"

"Childbirth." 

 

"At her age? Delightful."

"Is there an age you set at which you would request fertile women stop producing children?"

"No, I was simply taken aback by the lack of word circulating at court.  But then she is not here, she is never here. So would any of us know if that were the truth? Of course I do not doubt your grace nor call you a lair. I was simply acknowledging the lack of gossip which your courtiers so love. But then you are the gossip at the moment, so what is a Barons baby to a kings scandal?"

"Proposed scandal." His tone was short. She shuddered, she was losing his patience. 

"Why yes, I forgot. Propsed scandal. It is all complete fabrication."

"I am pleased we agree." 

 

"Because it would mean so much if we did not." That time, the sarcasm was clear.

 

"You're right, mayhap it wouldn't. I have noticed, you have been spending more time with my brother. How is George? Why does he not spend more time with dear Isabel?"

"She is with child."

"How wonderful."

"They hope for a boy, their last one died."

"I recall. Thank you for the stern and rather cool reminder Margaret, how could I thrive without the death of an infant over my head?"

"At the time I recall you blamed Lord Watwick."

"And do to this day, but it was at my order the docks were closed to them."

"But God saw Lord Warwick as more to blame. He proved that with Warwicks death at Barnet, is death followed by eternal torment not the God given punishment for the avoidable death or murder of innocents?" She watched him shudder, took his hand. "I wouldn't worry your grace. I am sure George does not blame you." She watched him nod, the colour leaving his skin. "lets talk of things more cheery! Your war with France? When do you go?"

"Come summer."

"And all is prepared?"

"Of course." 

"Good. I am happy to hear it. Anyway. I must be leaving with your permission your grace. Henry is need of new clothes which kindly I have offered to make him."

"New clothes? He will ned army livery as well."

"Indeed, under whose command will he fall?"

"Mine. I believe murrey and blue is in order, my badge too. I will see his armour is the finest." 

"Thank you your grace." She curtsied and left, walking quickly to find George. "Your brother will take Henry when you make war on France. I will find the address, send summons to young Adam Neven to serve under you in France. I want to test these rumours and confirm them once and for all." 


	50. Chapter 50

**France.**

 

"Not a one of you is to dessert." George Plantagenet, Duke of Clarence stood before his men. Each looked to him with eyes filled with loyalty, with enthusiasm. Eyes which had never seen him before this day, eyes which had seen not a half of these terrible wars. George paced slowly, one hand placed at his hip, the other resting on the hilt of a drawn sword as the steel structure supported his weight as he walked. A sign they would all know; and sign that it was he and not they that was in charge among their ranks. Adam Neven stood in silence. Placed toward the front if only for height, dressed in woolen clothes and leather boots, kitted with the standard dagger and sword. Nothing as impress as George of Clarence. Watching in silence among the others, eyes fixed on George she gulped. Blue Plantagenet eyes fixed upon her, the small smile which had always been so common to George - so famous to his mischief.   
  
He stopped, staring down the boy before him. So small, so young. How had Margaret convinced him? How could he be sure that the fragile frame was due to sex and not age. How could he be sure of anything? That woman claimed she cared for Edward, but then she consulted him. It was no secret among the courtiers of who plotted treason the most. Of who had most reason to hate Edward. George knew he was somewhat proud, delighted for his new found opportunity. As he looked over the men who stood before him, the feeling of certainty filling his gut. If only he could take this victory. To have found Anne Neville, the last threat to his inheritance. The last love of his own brother. The love which would tear the King and the Duke of Gloucester apart. That would separate them both and spell their doom.  Warwick had always said it, that to kill a twin would see the other follow. Was that now how this was? One so dependent on the other that any rift between them would see them both in their graves.  
  
Men looked up as horses whinnied. Hooves pounded the earth, soil flicked from the grass. Trumpets sounded as banners flew into view, armour shone in brilliant sun. The men were bowed before the horses stopped, expecting to see King Edward himself heading the nobles as men gathered for their cause. Anne Neville recognised the man in seconds. She bit her lip, forced her mouth to remain closed. William Hastings, the oldest man upon this field sat proud and tall upon his horse. Anthony Woodville dressed just as sharp stopping beside him. "My lord of Clarence. The king does wish to see you." Anne shivered at Hastings tone, cold, devoid of all emotion for the troublesome duke. She watched in silence as George turned, fear clear in his eyes. "I think it best we do not talk here my lord, in front of your men." She felt herself smirk against her own control, felt attention shift quickly to her. "You lad, come forward." She did, forcing herself to bow before England's Chamberlain. "Why are laughing? Do you find it amusing your superiors are to be taken from positions? Do you perhaps plan rebellion? or disorder among the common ranks?"  
  
"No sir."  
  
"Sir? Sir?!"  
  
"My lord." She muttered the words, averting her eyes from Hastings to the floor.   
  
"Then return to ranks and silence yourself. George-"  
  
"Sir William, would my brother honour me so much as to allow my person a man servant, my ward if you please?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Young Adam, the boy who smirked."  
  
Hastings smiled, looking over the base of his helmet, a smile obscured by steel. His attention fell to Anthony, the young man shrugged and nodded. "Of course, I do not see the harm in it. As long as the lad can keep his mouth closed and not involve himself in the matters of noblemen. I see no harm. Just do not dally my lord. The king says it is urgent." 

 

 

 

 

George had seen the king, what Anne had hoped would be the dukes demise had been no more than a meeting between the English and French. A meeting to discuss the war. A meeting which had failed, which Edward himself had been forced to to his decisions. The kings of France and England had sat side by side,  shook hands upon peace and withdrawal of the English from France. But the dukes had seen the end of that. It had seemed that Clarence had done all within his power to remove any treaty, and Gloucester callus approach had infuriated the French. By then it mattered little what Edward thought or did/ There was no return as the French King Louis left the royal tent in a rage so strong that thunder shook the city of Paris. It was said that none had seen the York king so furious. Even Hastings himself - the kings closest of servants had fallen to his knees to beg for forgiveness. Even Anthony who had stood beside the kings decision felt need to sit silently in fear. George however had been strong in pride, refusing to step from his own podium, Gloucester had been unaffected by the kings poor mood. 

She sat alone with her thoughts, watching the river flow around its bends in silence. Wiping tears from her eyes before blood had even been shed. The French she knew would be preparing, raising men and arms to fight the English from their lands. To kill those who wished to remain. Behind her she heard the sound of metal, clinking as the English readied themselves for the upcoming battle. Men trained, generals shouted. She had been granted her leave soon after their meeting. Begged time to recover, masked with an excuse to gather food. It was not the argument which had upset her so. She had known the war with France would come, that Edward would feel compelled to regain the land that Henry lost, to clear the Plantagenet name and once more make England great. it had come as no mystery. It had been seeing the English king once more that had disturbed her so. The man she had loved, the man who had taken her heart within his hands and made her feel safe, feel loved with every touch, every look. The man who had so often been called the most handsome man in England.   
  
Gluttonous living had finally taken him. His skin pale in colour, his waist broadened with food. His eyes were dull, dark circles shadowed them. he had looked tired, even ill. As his arguments with George had taken to full, they had seemed strained, an effort. To give an order had seemed against his abilities. That had been the cause of her misery. She wiped her eyes once more, the thoughts re-broke her heart. What ever had happened to the Edward she loved? To the man of power, of glory but most of all of happiness. The man who had been charming in looks and word, the man who had with a simple glance taken the saddest woman back to being a  smiling girl. Now he seemed broke, seemed exhausted by the duties which were expected of him. Seemed affected by the happenings of every day life. Plagued even, with negative emotion and the memories she had sworn to rid him of. Memories that would not exist if not for his Neville kindred.   
  
She looked up quickly as she heard the rustle of leaves from behind her. Male shouts filled her ears, Georges voice raising above them all. She would have to return soon she knew, or men would search for her. They would expect food. Sighing she rose, turning too quickly. Her fall was broken by a hand which caught her, pulling her fast to her feet. "My brother told me you were away looking for food." The familiar voice sent shivers down her spine before she looked to the mans face. Blue eyes met green, hi grip loosened. Hand moving quickly to the hilt of his sword. "I wanted to tell you, you are to forget what you heard."  
  
"Of course your grace. I heard nothing."  
  
"I wish that was true." He released her, picking an apple from the tree. "Were you not looking for food? yet I see none. Did you come without a basket?"  
  
"I am a fool your grace." She tried to laugh, gaining not even a smile in return as he handed the apple to her. "I should return, inform the duke of Clarence of my return and fetch a basket."  
  
"Perhaps some men, it will be a great task to feed an army with one boy." 

"Of course." she began to walk, heading back toward the trees. Her eyes failed to conduct their job as the blade scratched arm, ripping the shirt  she wore. Her skin flushed as the blade flicked away the fabric.   
  
"It is not abnormal for a woman to try and take her place in war madam. But what offends me most is your belief I would have missed you. Anne do you think me so lacking in sense that i would miss your face in that tent? I know not where George found you, but I knew I could not let you leave again." He watched her shiver as he removed the blade and slipping back into its scabbard. a small smile crossed his face, one of loss, of sadness. "Why did you go?"  
  
"You know why. Surely you know why."  
  
"I want to hear it from you."  
  
"I loved you so utterly-" She turned away to hide her lips as they trembled with the restrained sobs. Tears fell from her eyes, staining her cheeks. Her hands clasped together in front of her body, snatching away from his grasp as he reached out.   
  
"What changed Anne? You do not stop loving-"  
  
"I never said I do not love you now. I said you know why I left."  
  
"Because you discovered a secret of mine."  
  
"Is it true? Grant me that."  
  
"It makes no difference if I tell you now. You knowing was enough to remove the head from your shoulders. But you thought I would go that far?" She hard the hurt in his voice.   
  
"If you had your whits about you, you would know you had no choice."  
  
"As I dont now."   
  
She turned quickly, her eyes falling to his empty hands. "No, Edward-"  
  
"Not here. But Lady Anne, you should accompany me and disarm yourself. Your position and sex  will protect you in the battle but upon return to England you shall be arrested for treason and tried under the crown. If found guilty, you will be taken with haste to the Tower where the fate fit for traitors will befall you." He looked away quickly, offering a hand.  
  
"If I refuse?" By the time he had turned to object, the space where she stood was empty. He had reached for air. The trees rustled, he heard her running. Cursing he spun on his feet making his way back to the camp. To find her, he would need a horse. 


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies! A very short and rubbish chapters George gets his cumuppence!

Steel swept through the air, whistling as it caught the breeze before crashing into impact against another mans blade. Blood splattered, another hack. The man moaned before the final stab took the final breath from his French lungs. George duke of Clarence was happy. Equal in this bloodshed to any other man. Even to Edward. His brother the king was lost on the battlefield, hours ago they had lost sight of each other. Clarence spun, his blade piercing a mans abdomen, the soldier groaned collapsing to his knees in a final attempt to fight back. Another followed. "For York!" George recognised the voice of Anthony Woodville as the man charged toward a French fleet. The rivers baron was taken down, lost in a sea of Frenchmen charging with drawn blades and strung bows. "Edward!" The cry went up. Georges heard it, charging back towards the battles centre. 

More men charged in relentless fury. French tactics saw men charge in groups. No battle formations the English could prepare for. George counted quickly. Three Englishmen he guessed for every Frenchman. This was hell. His eyes caught Anthony among it all, injured upon the field. Men worked their way to pull him from the blood stained grass, their heads removed swiftly by French swords. "Richard." George grabbed Gloucester as the boy lost his stomach. "Dear god Richard what have we done? Where is Edward?" 

"None know George it is surely lost. Hastings fears he is dead." 

"He cannot-" George didn't finish as his brother broke away. Rejoining his men. 

"And charge!" 

Clarence watched, silent for a moment. His mind was made, Edward was dead he was sure of that. Richard would soon follow. He turned fast, his feet carrying him away from the slaughter, slipping on the mud he rose quickly. The horses waited in the distance. It wouldn't be long before he reached them. Before escape was possible and life was his to claim. He would be king, the child's protector. He'd rid himself of Elizabeth, that would not be hard. 

He stopped, swinging the sword as men approached, metal connected. Pain spread, seared as skin tore. George duke of Clarence felt the blood fill his armour, saw the trickle of red before his knees gave away. He hit the floor. The man stepped forward removed the sword. No. It could not be. George's knew his eyes deceived him, English armour, the kings own shield. He reached, gripped a gauntlet covered hand. "E.. Ed-" he stopped, silenced as men gripped his shoulders, stopped his descent to a cold and blood soaked earth. He watched as the sword was lifted again, their eyes met. His suspicions confirmed George retired to his fate without further complaint.

The blade swept, and hit the neck. One man wooped in delight. All had known Clarence would dessert, all had been sure. Celebration would hit the tents tonight when fighting was done. If any survived. But to Edward of York there was no joy. Duty had been served and the battle won. But no rest would follow his most disturbing victory.


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't like this chapter :/

Windsor Castle. 

Cecily Neville had finished tending wounds. Men had been brought through, one after another from boats they had forced up the river. Her son was dead, poor George. They said he died fighting. An honourable death, a brave mans death. Richard had returned to her mercifully unscathed and Edward, though physically he remained unharmed, emotionally he was broken. 

William Hastings had been forced to clear the way for the king. Cecily watched from the sideline as Hastings walked her son, a greyish white complexion, body shaking and damp with sweat, through to his rooms. The chambers guided his king. Guided as though he had no vision or no sense of his own. One hand resting beneath the kings, one hand on top as they walked. 

She watched as the Woodville whore jumped to her husbands side. Taking over the job Hastings had done so well, so gently. "Does she not just make your blood boil?" She recognised the voice, smiled at it's sound. 

"Richard, she makes my skin crawl, my blood boil and my stomach churn. But there is nothing we can do. She is queen with rights more than ours and we must respect her. Now, if you do not mind I am going to see my other son." She stopped turning to place a hand on Richards chest as she heard him step forward. "No, I think this is better done alone Richard." She charged toward the kings chambers. Hastings followed her march. 

"You can't the queen she will-"

"My lord Hastings do you fear the queen?" She watched as he shook his head. "Nor do I my son is king and he will show Leniency even if I displease the witch." She opened the doors to his bedchamber herself, pausing until noticed. The sight before her being one she cared little for.  
The whore made her son look weak, sitting upon his bed her arm around him, holding a wine cup to his lips so occasionally he could drink. Her fingers combing his hair as though he were a traumatised child. 

"Lady mother I had not realised you were among the mass of visitors."

"Yes, I wanted to find out what happened to George." She saw him tense, saw Elizabeth move away. Thirty six years of motherhood to this man was enough to know the words that left his mouth were anything but the truth. 

"He died fighting the French. As many men did. God bless their souls. Anthony Woodville fell too. I almost did. But somehow we survived." 

"And George didn't." 

"Mother you of all know death happens in battle." 

"Do not." She approached quickly "Do not make me think of that."

"But it is true. You are grieving but-" he was silenced as her hand connected with his cheek, the second one he caught. "The third time you try I'll call it treason. Then you can see your son once more. Less he is burning in hell for the crimes he committed." 

"George committed no crimes."

"To bed a queen of England whilst her husband lives? Treason. To plot the kings death and feed him poisoned wine? Treason. To take arms with Warwick against me? Treason. Most of all to spread vicious and unfounded rumours about me marriage? Treason. But my favourite, oh the ultimatum. To use a war as an attempt to be king of England? To dessert your king in battle and leave him to die? To bring troops he knew to be less than satisfactory and to distract me with love before I fought? That mother is treason. So what, prey tell would you have me do to him? Let him live? Or would you rather I had brought him back? Executed him-"

"I'd rather he had a trial! The chance to speak." She began to cry, stepping back as Edward released her hand. 

"You know the result would have been the same mother." 

She nodded. Hands shaking as she leaned on the chest to support her weight. "That's why you looked so unwell?" He nodded, she followed. "Tell me one thing. Did you swing the blade yourself?" He turned away, she saw the look upon his face. It was enough. She needed no words, wanted no words from him. "You... You... You devil spawn how could you?! He's your brother! Your blood! It's her isn't it?" She pointed to Elizabeth who now stood in the corner. "It's her, she had you possessed so you would kill your brother. My sweet sweet Edward." She stepped forward taking hold of him for only a moment before he pulled away. 

"No. No she didn't and she is your queen. Treat her with the respect she deserves." 

"But my poor boy-"

"George died in battle he died for deserting if you must know. He was spared the traitors death he deserved. Be pleased with that or hold your tongue."

"Then forgive me your grace." She curtsied, dipped her head to hide the tears and forced the years old control to hide the shake from get voice. "Forgive me, but you will not see me again. I wish to live in peace at Fotheringhay where once you were welcome but no more. You were my son, I did everything for you and repay me thus? You are dead to me." She turned then and left. Fleeing the room, Elizabeth trying to follow in fury. 

"Do not. No good will come of it."

"But she said you were-"

"I will not act against my mother. A helpless woman who has had only suffering." 

"Edward-"

"Leave it!" She nodded approaching her husband, her hand resting on his chest, pushing him down to the mattress kissing his lips. His hands took their natural course, but no thoughts were placed on her as she straddled his waist. None of the familiar sensations took his body as once they had. 

 

 

Burgundy.

"You demand I help you?" Charles of Burgundy laughed as he looked at the sight before him. The child was upon her knees, her head bent. "You come here and you demand from me?"

"Charles." Margaret interrupted, her hand stroking his. "Anne do tell me again."

"Edward, he was almost defeated in France-"

"Because your English king is a fool!" Charles silenced himself as Margaret's eyes met his. Eyes daring him to say another word against her most precious brother. He bowed his head waving a hand for the girl to continue. 

"But that was not it. He wishes me dead.-"

"If he truly wished you dead lady Anne you would be. At the least you would have found no friends in Burgundy. My brother is not a weak man. He would kill you of he so wished."

"But England is my home!" 

"And you will return there." Charles spoke once more. This time silenced as his duchess squeezed his hand till knuckles turned white. 

"In good time Anne. Give my brother chance to heal. Soon, soon you will return to England. Until then, you should stay here at my court. You can be my lady and I swear to protect you." She rose, walking toward the doors, Anne at her trail. "Now go and make yourself comfortable. Monsieur Phillipe will show you to my chambers." She closed the doors her attention falling back on her husband. "Say it, I am a fool."

"I promised I would never question your will but let it run free. It was an agreement with your brother."

"Oh please I doubt my brother much cares what happens to me now. He will see you throw me in a convent in if he hears. If what Anne Neville says is true. He will tear Burgundy apart for her."

"She said nothing. Dear Margaret there is something you are not telling me. Something you must. I can help neither of you if you do not tell me."

"She has found out my brothers darkest secret. You already know it, he told the world at Paris. You simply ignored his words." She sighed. "If someone told you I was not your wife, tell me Charles how would you feel?"

"I would kill the knave."

"And if I had your sons?"

"What are you telling me?"

"Lady Margaret Beaufort is the true queen of England. Your cousin Elizabeth? She is nothing." In an instant Margaret regretted her words. The look which broke on her husbands face said all his words could not. 

"Monsieur Francis! Protect that girl. She does not leave this palace. Do you all hear me?" 

"Husband she is not a prisoner!" 

"Oh my dear wife you exceed yourself and thus forget your position. Yes she is our prisoner. You are not medal in men's affairs, even if they concern your family. For you are bias and plagued with a woman's sentiment. You will not think as you should whilst your Neville cousin is threatened by your brother, England's king. I have no such loyalties. If Edward wants her, he will have to pay the price." 

In that instant, as Charles left her on her own, Margaret of Burgundy truly hated the man he had married for the first time since their wedding day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys. I'd much appreciate your suggestions as to where to take the next chapter :)


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter. Desperately trying to break writers block. If any of you have any suggestions please please tell me.

The shutters slammed against the windows. The night was dark that men could not see their palms before their faces. For days he had been weak, growing weaker, now he was bed ridden. Shivering in the cold. He heard movement, moved. No good came. He heard steps, felt the presence. All the while he failed to reach the candle that would bring him comfort. Then even that was gone, the flame extinguished in a gust as the door slammed. It was silent, not a breath cut through the air. He was alone, or so he believed until the moment he heard the sound of a drawn sword. He knew it was over before the blade pierced his heart. It would be the morning before anyone would know that Charles of Burgundy lay dead.

 

 

Edward startled awake, his chest brushed by the hand of a woman for whom he had grown affectionate. A woman whom he allowed close, unlike the queens he kept distanced. But affection was not love, the soft handed tender hearted jane would never be Anne. She could feel as she did and treat him well, that place of his heart was always gone. "Jane, fetch Will." 

"But it is closing on midnight-"

"Fetch him anyway. If I call he is to come."

"Of course your grace." She climbed out of the covers walking fast toward the doors. It was minutes before Hastings emerged, eyes puffy but otherwise awake in it's completest form. 

Hastings held up a hand as Edward opened his mouth to speak. "Ned, I have had news from Burgundy. The duchess is in England. She travels to Windsor by the Thames tonight. Duke Charles was killed two nights past in Bruges. None knows what happened. She brings her household."

"Mary?" 

Hastings shook his head. "As the new mistress of the duchy of Burgundy she stays." 

"What does my sister wish to gain from her travels to Windsor?"

Hastings was about to speak, tending and falling silent as the doors burst open. "I will your ear for complaint my brother." Margaret of Burgundy swept into a curtsy before the bed, her women following the lead. Edward smiled, eyes fixing on his sister until they fixed on the woman just to her right. 

"Margaret, always one for the theatric entrance. I am in no food for mumming this evening." He climbed from the bed, gaining the attention of every woman in the room as he emerged from the sheets naked. Margaret sighed, much to his amusement. Enough was her discomfort however that he slipped a gown around his shoulders, tying the sash at it's middle. "We have a murderer among is this evening. Hush." He held a finger to Margaret's lips and she began to speak. "I wish not to hear how killed your husband sister, I care little for how now I know why. Burgundys affairs will remain as Burgundys affairs. I will not meddle in your politics." His eyes fell once more on Anne Neville, his hand was quick, grabbing her tightly before she could move away. "Hastings show these women to my mothers apartments. She will not have need for them since she is now at Fotheringhay." Hastings bowed, guiding the women from the chamber. The duchess shower reluctance, leaving as the chamberlains hand brushed her arm. As the doors closed the room fell silent. 

Anne Neville closed her eyes as tight as she could. She waited for him to call the guards, for her incarceration to begin. Perhaps he would kill her himself. All she knew as her heart thudded was that she would not be allowed to survive. Margaret's plea had failed before the duchess had even made it. Then her eyes opened as soft lips stroked hers, hot breaths parting them so her tongue danced against Edwards, his hands circling her raise pulling her close. Minutes past, each second they edged closer to the wall at her rear, until she felt the soft tapestry. Her hands stroked the skin at his chest before he broke the kiss, panting. "Anne, Jesu you are as beautiful tonight as those years ago at Middleham." He stared into green eyes, chuckled as he recognised surprise. "You thought perhaps I had forgotten? Sweet Anne how could you think so?"

"I thought you would kill me..." Her words were almost silent as she began to sob. "That you do not love me." 

"I love you. It would be with sorrow I took you to the scaffold. Lord knows I cannot do it. As far as England is concerned only George knew of that letter." He felt her tense at it's mention. "Justice has in all eyes been served. If none know I have no need to find you guilty of treason. But come back Anne, you cannot be alone. Stay at court I beg it." 

Her hand stroked his cheek, tears left her eyes. "I cannot, Edward my love I wish I could but I-"

"Stay or I shall make you, do not have me do that. I will call for my guards and you will be taken to the tower. Anne I am giving you chance to live-"

"Under your terms not my own."

"I can easily remember what you have done." She fell silent, resting her head against his shoulder as he lifted her easily. "Don't make me kill the woman I love." Her hand lingered over his heart as she kissed his lips before he laid her down upon the mattress, stripping the gown from his body before joining her. Hi hands working at her bodice.


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ricardian's among you I think will hate this. I'm sorry, it's where my mind took me. Let me know what you think as always

__  
  
**Christmas Morning, 1455**

__  
  
"Nedward!" George approached at a run, cradling the toys her had acquired. Edward laughed as the child yelled his name. It was always wrong, never had he pronounced it right, never as he should. Nedward of Ed. Never Edward or Ned. None had yet concluded if the child struggled with his speech, with the use of names or if he was simply awkward. Cecily smiled as she watched her sons bond, the duke laughed as young George jumped upon his brothers lap, wrapping arms around him as only George and Richard could. "Ed look!" He smiled placing an ivory and mahogany crafted chess board upon the table, lifting a small chest up, opening it. "See?"  
  
"I do." Edward stroked the child's hair and kissed his cheek. George laughed setting up the board with pride he could demonstrate to only his brother, looking to his mother for confirmation. The woman smiled. "Now George, you have done well! Who taught you to do that?"  
  
"Thomas!" The child squealed excitedly.   
  
"Did he teach you to shoot a bow as well?" George shook his head, looking to his eldest brother with a smile so wide it reached his eyes. The pleading visible in the remaining portion of those crumpled eyes. "Come on then lad, we'll teach you. Edmund, grab your bow!" George jumped up as Edward stood, pausing a moment to take the bow from Edmund's hands. Edward grabbed his own, following the child as he set a fast pace. They paused, watching at the top of the steps as George ran giggling through the field, stopping to look back and shout. "Come on then Edmund." Edward himself laughed before he descended the steps at a jog, meeting George in moments taking the child's hand in his own helping him load the arrow against the bows string. "Now, it's straight see, rested against the wood. Now, relax." Edward's fingers slipped over George's. "Pull back, and release." The arrow whooshed out of the wooden arch, landing on the floor a meter short of their target. George whined, grabbing Edmund's attention as Rutland arrived.   
  
"I can't do it Edmund."  
  
"You can." Edward corrected him, stroking the child's hand. "Look forward, you were looking for Edmund, look forward. Now." Edward lined up the next arrow. "Do it again. Relax the arm. Watch." Edward released the child's hand, lifting the bow, he drew back the arrow releasing it it, it whistled as it flew through the air, connecting with the marked tree branch. "See? If I can do it, so can you."   
  
Edmund scoffed, muttering words below his breath. The remainder of that morning's argument rising up again. "So very fitting, considering Master Bleybourne."   
  
Edward's hand shook as he held George's tiny hand, helping the child as this time he released the arrow with adult accuracy into the tree. Rutland's comment left him, that mornings row fled his memory as unadultered pride took over his feelings. Joy making him smile and George whooped his joy for all to hear. 

__  
  
  
**28th March 1483  
**

**  
**Edward startled awake, Elizabeth's hand touched his own as he gripped the covers. Sweat soaked his forehead, dampening his body. The pain took him, defeating his will, diminishing his strength. Nothing plagued him as much as the images which burnt into his mind from the dream. His heart pounded at a speed unknown to him, he knew now before they spoke that these were his final days. The physician's face revealed all as he approached, a wooden bowl in his hand as he sat upon the bed pulling the King's arm away. He struggled, held by Elizabeth. "No! No! Release me!" He was silenced as his wife kissed him. He bit down sharp, bucking his body to the right and away from the doctors grasp. "I said no!" She rubbed his chest, pressing him back into the mattress as the doctor cut his arm, blood dripping into the bowl at a steady rate. "Bess?" He looked to her, confusion filling his eyes. "Bess, forgive me."  
  
"Ned shh." She kissed him once more, stroking hair from his face as Anne Neville approached, guiding the princes as the children gathered to visit the king. "Ned, my love-"  
  
"Papa?" Prince Edward spoke, breaking from Anne Neville's grip. He charged toward the bed jumping onto it, his head resting instantly upon his fathers chest.   
  
"Bess, is that Richard?"  
  
"Papa?" The child looked up, tears in his eyes, wiped by his mother. "Papa cannot see me?" he spoke to his mother who nodded, causing the child to whimper.   
  
"Edward, my son. Be strong, one day not long from now, you will be King." All let out a sob watching with tear filled eyes as the king wrapped an arm around his child, eyes closing as the child's head rested once more upon his chest.  
  
  
  


***  
 **April 9th 1483**  


  
He opened his eyes, hearing copper crashing on the ground. "Whose there?" The candle light hurt his eyes as it moved closer, seemingly uncontrolled . Dark shadows filled the room, obscuring his vision. He knew nothing of the truth and the fake. Men approached him from all directions, all with hoods, all wishing him harm. All wanting to draw from him his final breath. "Whose there?" He cried the words, held down by fear before the hand of ice pushed him down. Another hand gripped his nose before he could talk. He struggled, hands flailing to push away his attacker. He choked, inhaling quickly gasping at the lack of air. He felt the blade against his throat, the cup against his lips.

"Stop!" The voice was familiar, it made Edward buck up. It's comforting sound, the unmistakable timbre. "All of you, step back." Richard of Gloucester approached his brother as the king laid shivering upon his bed. The knife still held to his throat as the men forced him back against the mattress. "Forgive this unexpected intrusion your grace, a wiser man may have been more expectant. But it is too late now. Your health will fail you. I have come to offer you a choice. To continue with this misery or end yourself quickly."

"DIckon plea-" He silenced himself as liquid filled his mouth, the taste so putrid he almost vomitted.

"Silence brother." Richard sat upon the mattress, placing a soft finger upon the kings lips. "Silence." He used a hand to beckon the men away. "You have to choose, tell me, what's the thing you'd never want a man to know?" Edward shook his head whimpering as Richard placed the cup against his lips. "Your grace." Edward said nothing, biting on his lip. "I'll ask a different question, abdicate."  Edward shook his head and bit his lip. "Wrong answer. Open your mouth." Edward shook his head, fighting the men who held his arms and feet, desperately thrashing muscles in a final attempt before pain took control. He cried out as Richard pulled his jaw open, filling his mouth with the liquid once more, this time he had no sooner swallowed than his stomach won, spasms sending its contents out of onto the sheets. "Oh dear, we cant have that." He moved away, the sound of liquid filling a cup. "Now, we will try my second question. Why did you really kill George?" He didn't allow an answer, making his brother swallow more of the putrid liquid. "I can tell you why. He knew something no one else did. Until now. Did you think it was hard to find out?" Richard smiled as he saw the look cross Edward's eyes. "Elizabeth isn't your wife. The children, your little prince. He is a bastard. I am your heir."

"You whoreson-"

"Why no, that would be you dear brother." Richard took the knife from his belt stripping flesh from this kings throat, grazing enough to make him whimper. "Can I call you that? brother? Or King, you are an imposter and ever have been, should I saw the name?" He bent down, whispering it in his ear. "Bleybourne." He held his brother down easily as he struggled. "Now now, you knew, for how long? When did our whore of a mother tell you? When?!"

"Burn in hell Richard!" Edward fought, silenced again as the door opened. Every man paused as Cecily Neville approached. "Ma me-"

"Silent, you killed George, you killed your rightful king. The price for treason is death Edward-"

"You, you did this?"

"No, I told Richard of your lowly birth, he needed little encouragement."

"Richard, she lies!"

"You would insult my mother so?"

"Richard-" Edward felt tears leave his eyes as Richard grazed his throat once more. "Mother please." He whimpered the words as the men holding him lifting him without effort and throwing him onto his knees. "Ma mere-" She turned walking away as her eldest son begged sobbing as as she broke his heart. "Richard don't, I beg you she is deranged, she is insane! Devoid of her senses!" He gulped as Richard lifting his head, felt the cold blade press against his throat. "Stop, Dickon you would not deny a dying man his last confession?"

"Get a priest-"

"You will not get one so late at night."

"Get him a quill." Richard grabbed parchment, throwing it on the floor, an inked quill placed in the kings hand. "Write, fast. I will have a priest bless your body in the morrow. You may have time for your final prayer." Richard watched as Edward scribbled, the tears smudging the ink. He pushed the finished letter away watching as his mother sealed it. It was then that Richard pressed the blade against his throat, moving behind Edward he waited a moment before drawing the blade deep across his throat. He dropped the knife from a shaking hand, his skin white from shock and sudden sickness. "Ma mere..." Richard wiped his eyes as sudden tears left his eyes.

"Richard be strong! He was a terrible king, a worse person. My darling son." She took his face in his hands shaking him gently. "Listen, Richard, you have to be strong if you are going to be king. You have to be strong because this is not the hardest task you will face. He has children in the nursery, a widow who we know to be consorting with the devil. She will do all she can to shame you Richard, all she can to prove this was your doing. You cannot let her see."  She guided her son from the room, stopping to look at the men who remained. "Move him." She pointed to the body on the floor. "And someone get the Tudor boy in here when the morrow comes. If a single one of you let slip that Richard had aught to do with this, I will see you dead myself." With those words she joined Richard once more, walking his shaking figure through the halls to his rooms where led a night of fitful sleep. 


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I worked out none of you liked the last idea :) so just for the people who are mourning Edward

He awoke with a shout so loud no man was absent from the royal bed chamber. Soon Edward was struggling to sit, hands gently rubbed his shoulders, damp silk wiped a sweet soaked brow. For a moment there was confusion, then fear sewn by overwhelming paranoia, then there was the pain so pure in its nature his eyes closed at their own will. Anne Neville wiped his skin with a look of sorrow upon her face, moving back as William Hastings slapped the kings cheek lightly bringing him back to wake. There was a moment of mumbling, of muffled whimpers before the chamberlain moved away. Edwards eyes then set on Richard, the kings face quickly losing colour. "Get him out! Gaurds! Will, Anne someone cease him and take him to the tower." his head swam, he cried out as he tried to shift his weight in objection. His temples throbbed, lights flashed at the back of his eyes and soon his groom was stripping sheets from his bed. Gloucester approached slowly, helping the servant pull new fresh blankets over the king. Edward caught his brothers hand gripping it tight for the pain he felt. "Did none of you listen? Are you all deaf? I want him in the tower." his words brought confusion to all and tears to the eyes of Cecily Neville. 

"Edward-" his eyes locked on hers and with a trembling lip he looked away.

"her too. They are traitors. Dickon i expected but ma mere?" he whimpered silenced as tears left his eyes. Anne was fast to wipe them to silence him promptly before beckoning Yorks dowager duchess forward. 

"Edward, your grace, my son." she curtsied and kissed his hand, holding it steady as it shook in her hand. "you are confused my son, crippled and plagued by trauma but believe me when I tell you your brother and I are innocent of all but love." 

"love is a strange term for treason-"

"What is it you think we did brother? What sins do you accuse us of committing?" Richard approached slowly taking the cloth from Anne Neville, tending to his brothers skin with gentle strokes. "Ned I will not lie to you, but cannot defend myself if I am not aware of what I am accused. Give a man his right to trial. With evidence and peers do not condemn him without true accusation. But if your conscience is so void, sentence me and I shall be grateful to your grace, my most merciful king and brother."

His words acted as little help and soothing. "you both came to my chamber this night and tried to kill me."

Cecily laughed in outrage. Surrendering quickly to sobs. "he has gone mad, truly he is mad. My poor son, he believes I would-" she stopped as Richard held up a hand. The look upon his face was one of pity.

"My brother your fever plagues you more than I thought it truly could, you are melancholic." 

"Do not put this down to ailment Dickon. I know what happened. You held me down and forced me to drink a bitter poison then took me from my bed and tried to cut my throat. But I am here, you failed but will surely try again." Edward looked up as he heard Hastings sob, saw the chamberlain bite down upon his knuckles to muffle the sounds. He stared in disbelief. How could they not know he was telling gods own truth? "Jesu, you do all think that I am mad?" he tried to show the throat, to display the marks he knew would be there. His hand fell on the smoothest flesh. Richards fell ontop of his, squeezing the fingers in light brotherly comfort. 

"Ned you are so very confused which Dr Fergal says is normal. We all do owe your grace an explanation. I was in here last night with ma mere and others. Sir Thomas, Lord Hastings and Dr Fergal. We did not try to kill you but help you. You have been in a fever for weeks. In a deep sleep, trapped dreaming but there were times you woke, you knew nothing, spoke no sense. You frightened us brother. Last night you woke and cried out in pain so much my lord Hastings woke the palace. Dr Fergal insisted Laudanum will help your pain. That wad the bitter liquid you thought to be poison."

For the first time the physician spoke, approaching the bed bowing. "It is from poppies your grace, of opium flowers. To stop your pain. The second cup because you lost the first, with camomile to have you sleep without plagues, sure to work it was but you fought to get from your bed your grace. Hastings tried to stop you." the chamberlain nodded. 

"you wouldn't listen Ned. The pain got too much sir." Hastings almost cried as he spoke, held by his wife, a rare presence at court. She tapped his hand encouraging his speech. "you collapsed into sleep. By Jesu I thought you'd died. Dickon too, we tried to lift you but we couldn't-"

"The letter I wrote a letter." 

"You did." Cecily handed him the parchment. "you were convinced you would die, so we let you. You begged for a priest, for final confession. Edward we had to give you something." 

He read over the letter, eyes wide with shock. His eyes turned to Elizabeth, to Anne and then to Hastings. They all nodded, each with tears in their eyes.

"but Dickon mentioned my abdication."

"dear God you heard that?" Richard looked shocked as Edward nodded. "you may have to abdicate, the French king wants war with us. In your state, he cannot see England to be weak, governed by a crippled king. He will preach it as a punishment from god for England's sins. He will bring Europe against us."

"crippled?" 

"Ned my love you fell from your horse, you don't remember?" Elizabeth sat upon the bed holding her husbands hand despite the jealous glares of the Neville girl. She smiled as she stroked his hair. "you hit your head and hurt your back we all heard the crack and sure we all were that you were dead but rejoiced we are to find it is not so. Even if you must-"

"I will not abdicate do you hear me now? and I will not tolerate a word to suggest I should. If Louis does bring war against us we shall win as always we have done. Where is Tudor?"


	56. Chapter 56

I wangted to update out fo respect for all my readers, let them know that i do not know what to do with this now and need some time to think it out. But, if you generally like my writing, then please look at some of the others till I have inspiration to write more for this. I accept prompts and ideas too.


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure this works but lets see.

"You couldn't even do that right!" Jasper Tudor looked at the floor, embarrassment flooding his face as Margaret yelled. "His horse was lame! You think that tells me enough?! Your brother would have ensured it was right! The horse was lame but it did not kill him and he is still king! Now they are alerted. Hastings knows. He knows!" she paced. Stopping to look out of the window, watching men and women hurry by carrying baskets of supplies to the kings apartments as for weeks they had. How it should be her son, how Henry should be upon the throne. York had doomed himself, God had spoken to her. He had told her all and through the lips of Anthony Woodville himself. All confessed by the imposters brother. She felt anger, felt fury so pure it had fuelled treason, had provoked murder. Her husband had lied to her. Lied to God and he deserved to be punished. "Of course, they suspect Gloucester." her attentions turned back to Jasper as he knelt before her. "But suspicion is not enough." 

"It was by all appearances an accident sister."

"An accident? And who says that? The King? Gloucester? Hastings? The Queen? Even Duchess Cecily does not believe it was an accident. And they will be sworn to the destruction of men of women to commit such foul crimes. And there will be no mercy. He needs just an excuse to solve his problems. Hastings has wanted me hung since Olney." Jasper said nothing, remained silent as Margaret stared, absently fingering the locket at her neck. Opening it to blindly stare at the tiny portraits. Henrys handsome face stared up at her, opposite was a faded portrait of her husband. Offered to her at their betrothal those years ago. She took the faded painting, caressed it in her palm. Her eyes closed as she remembered that boy. A well mannered young earl, as eager as she for the marriage. But a man of mercy and forgiveness long gone to her kind. She tossed the portrait into the fire. "Jasper, I want it done properly. If they will not believe it is Gloucester, kill him too."

"But Henry will not gain, the princes-"

"Are bastards and the fool has not changed his will. Henry is king by inheritance unless my husband has legitimate son. Unlikely now I would say." 

"England believes the princes are his heirs. They want to believe Margaret. No word will convince them, even the popes."

"We have his Holinesses word. King Louis saw to that. But if you are right, and England refutes such accusations? I shall deal with the princes. They trouble my sleep no more and Henry shall be king. It matters little then who finds out of our plots. Edward will be dead and his brats too. Henry shall be king and I his regent. The witch can accuse all she likes. It will not harm us." Margaret stopped, hearing the gasp, the sudden intake of breath. She turned, Anne Neville's eyes met hers as the girl stood in open mouthed shock for a second before taking flight. Margarets eyes closed briefly as she crossed herself. "Kill her. I want her silenced." 

Jasper bowed and left the room, following the girl as she ran. 

 

 

"Your Grace, the prince is most unwell. He cannot live the year. His jaw is septic, his humours so ill balanced." Dr Fergal spoke on his knees, head bowed as he knelt beside the kings bed as the queen tended to his needs. "It is beyond my knowledge, beyond science. He is in Gods hands now your grace and we must all prey."

"And Richard, how is Richard?"

"Pardon your grace?"

"You tell me prince Edward will die. How is my other son, prince Richard?" 

"As well as a boy of ten should be your grace." 

All looked up as Hastings interrupted. "He plays well and reads better Ned." Edward just nodded sighing, using both hands to sit, ignoring Elizabeths fuss. Hastings moved close, sitting on the bed. He nodded as Edward whispered into his ear, listening to the words carefully. "I shall see what I can do your grace." he stood, pausing beside the door. 

"Damnit Will! You are testing me. What is it?"

"I press once again your grace. We all think it wise-"

"All?"

"Your lady mother, myself, Dickon and the queen. We do think that the villain Jasper Tudor should be imprisoned, if you are so reluctant to arrest me lady Margaret then Jasper would be the obvious-"

"Do you fools not understand?"

"Ned we understand perfectly. It was no accident. The horse was lame."

"It went weak."

"It was given to you weak and you could have died." Elizabeth kissed his cheek to cool his nerves once she had finished her words. Satisfied he was listening. 

"A miracle you did not." all eyes fell silently on the doctor as he spoke out of turn. All knew Edwards response before the door burst open, Anne Neville darted for the bed, climbing under her lovers arm sobbing

"Edward he wants to kill you, kill me." None asked, but stared in wonder as Jasper entered the chamber head first, the duke of Gloucester following with anger plastered on otherwise gentle features


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, it's Edward IV's 572 birthday today. Random fact. 
> 
> Anyway, thought I would do a terrible update. Though I dont think anyone is reading anymore.

The Tower of London.   
“Confession is good for the soul.” The sound of skirts trailing along the floor could be heard as the screams were exchanged for gurgles of wine. “It cleanses you of your sins my friend, it frees you of the dark grasp of Satan.” The figure stopped beside The Rack. Her eyes meeting the pained, dark eyes of their victim. “Speak now and spare yourself.” She sighed after a moments pause, shaking her head before lifting her hand closing her eyes as the levers clicked into action, forcing another scream from their victims mouth. “I always liked you.” She put a finger on his lips, trying hard to silence the sobs. “You were my favourite, and I hoped you would just tell me. But always, you were always more loyal to Edward. I should have known. But is he worth this?” Another click and more screaming. “All you need to do is tell me where they took him.”

“He is dead! Damn you he is dead!” 

“I am no fool my lord! Where is the king?” She held her hand up once more, watching as William Hastings writhed, fighting the ropes which held him, finally submitting to sobs and mutters as before him so many had. She tutted, her eyes meeting Jasper’s as he held the lever tight in place. “Where is Edward? Where is my husband?”

“I know nothing of where he truly is.”

“But you confess he is not dead?” He nodded, Margaret Beaufort smiled, resting a gentle hand on his cheek. “Very good.” She stroked his cheek, sighing as he pulled weakly away. “But you confess then to lying to your queen.” He nodded again. “You are the only one who might know. Tell me my lord, was my marriage annulled?” He held his tongue for only a moment, admitting the truth as Jasper pulled on the lever. “Good. You have exhausted your use. If you know not where Edward is then I see no reason to spare you.” Jasper Tudor lifted the chamberlain from his restraints as Margaret retreated, taking a quill in her hand signing the parchment before she dripped on wax and sealed it. Hastings caught himself enough to see the seal. The Whyte Boar of Gloucester. Richard would take the blame for his fall. Richard was the man that these Tudors now intended to implicate. They would stop at nothing. They would find Edward. He crossed himself quickly, sobbing a prayer as Jasper Tudor lead him out into the Tower’s grounds, thrown to his knees at a blood-stained block. It was said they heard the Princes cry as with two swings of the axe, Hastings head hit the grass and he was dead. 

***

Burgundy.  
“She has gone mad, Margaret you have to act.”

“You forget brother, I cannot act. I am no longer Duchess of Burgundy.” 

“But Dickon, he is in danger, my children-“

“The children will not be touched, not when are bastards and she knows. She knows. Her son is the legitimate heir to the throne by your ruling. She needs proof.”

“And she has it! If Hastings is dead, she exhausted his tongue. She made him tell. She would not have killed him whilst he could talk.” She watched him, sighed as he displayed once invisible emotion. As she saw his agitation, his desperation, above all his helplessness. “Margaret, do something. For God, for me, for Dickon do something.”

“What would you have me do brother? Beg Max for-“ She sighed seeing his eyes flicker. “That’s exactly what you want me to do. That’s it.” She sighed, standing lifting her brothers hand kissing it gently before cupping it in her own. “I will see what I can do, but Ned. Don’t hold out on it. If Hastings is dead… I can pray for the children, but she will find you.” Margaret Plantagenet, dowager Duchess of Burgundy turned and left the chamber searching the Chateau for the duke. Praying silently that above all, he would be merciful.


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Jenice, really. It sucks, I am doing this no justice... Apologies.

The streets were busy, men and women crowded market stalls. Each hackling for a bargain as the merchants bagged the goods until the morning. The ripe smell of aging meat made the boy gag, his nostrils closing against the putrid smell of warming animal flesh. He shuddered, walking quickly beside the woman who guided him through these foreign walkways. His eyes looked north, a fleeting attempt to gain the woman’s attention. She walked without a word, without granting the child so much as an eye bat. The woman was stone, was ice, she cared little for children and nothing for the boy at her side. 

Women moved aside to let her pass, curtsying to her presence. The boys memories betrayed him, tears left his eyes. How once he had remembered, the royal processions through London when men and women how bowed to England’s Queen, when times had been more certain. His heart beat heavily against a child’s ribs, thundering under the pressure of a man’s secrets. They had slowed, almost halted in the darkness of an enclosed alley. Houses stood tall, shading the cobbles and making the slick with the dew of city squalor. He coughed, the familiar smells invading his lungs like a sudden infection. 

His body trembled as his reluctance won, no step could be taken. Straining, his feet stepped forward as the woman pulled, cursing in a language unheard to his ears. His weight soon relieved from him as with sudden force he was lifted, his head hidden in the scented cotton of her cloak, his cheek pressed firmly against soft breast. Her feet tapped fast against the cobbles as she ran, speeding through the shadows like a demon pursued. His eyes closed, hands clenching her dress in fear. It was not long before with sudden haste they stopped, his feet touching the ground. “Come child, do not delay. It will cost us dear.” 

He almost cried out as his arm pulled, pain searing to his chest. Tears betrayed him, leaving soft blue eyes forcing the woman to once more curse. “Come child, do not cry. It is not the way.” She wiped his eyes with a soft handkerchief, letting him see clearly for the first time, even as darkness settled slowly upon the courtyard, the flames of close torches warmed his being, guiding his path. He followed the woman’s pace as she approached the slick stone stairs and pushed him through a door into comfortable servant’s quarters. “Master Forbes, fetch some warm spiced wine.” She sat the child on a fireside settle, her green eyes dark with scrutiny as she looked over the boy with careful movements. Finally she ruffled soft blond hair as she handed him the goblet of wine, watching him gulping the liquid. 

She tapped his leg, shaking her head as the child tried to tuck tiny feet beneath himself. Once again he stood, following the woman as she took his hand, guiding him silently up a cold stairwell. The sudden colour brought the child to astonishment, the white marble and exquisite paintings. The tapestry depictions of great knights battling demons, serpents and of women so beautiful he gasped at the fabric presence. So distracted was he that he stumbled, earning the woman’s sharp disapproval as hastily he was pulled once more to his feet, hurried toward grand doors decorated with golden designs. Pushing them open he stopped suddenly, eyes closed as he felt the intense gaze of nobility upon him. “My lord, lady, I got the lad and effort it took.”   
“How wonderful, a more beautiful boy I have never seen.” The accent filled the child’s heart. The French sounds forced him to struggle, breaking free from the woman’s grip to flee. Caught in sturdy hand’s that lifted his struggling body from the floor. He screamed, hand’s slapping desperately. How could they have brought him here? Since his birth he had feared the French, hated their influence, feared their ability. The French King Louis and his cousin, the French born Lancastrian Queen. How many times in the nursery his father had soothed him when he awoke in sweat soaked fits from his nightmares. Nightmares induced by the stories from his sisters, as they told tales of how the English boy who befell to French hands was surely doomed. He shivered, submitting to fate in arms stronger than he. “Hush child.” The English voice forced his eyes open, relaxing as the female voice hummed. “Max, my lord. With your grace’s permission I might take leave with the boy, to show him his chambers?” He heard no response, felt the woman bob in curtsy before leaving through doors more grand than he had entered. 

Alone in the halls she held him gently, her voice a soft whisper as with one hand she wiped the hair from his gentle features. “Richard, sweeting.” He shivered as she held him up before a window, her eyes meeting his, her smile warming him so thoroughly. “Sweet Richard, how like him you look.” She dropped the prince to his feet, hurrying him through the halls, knocking as she reached a distant chamber. “Brother?” Richard paused, anxiety chilling him as the darkened chamber stood before him, he followed the woman following her lead as she curtsied once more. “Brother, he is here.” 

The child looked up, suddenly joy invading each inch of him as the familiar London voice bounced from the walls. “My son, away with such formalities. Margaret, leave us. For we have much to discuss.”


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope those still reading get something from the chapter. I happen to think that my writing is going massively down hill. But this is one of the better chapters I have written for a while. Yes, I am procrastinating before exams. 30 hours of exam on Thursday and this is how I spend my time preparing :P Well. I can think of no preferable way. What happens with Richard cannot be changed, I am sorry. Dont hate me too much.

He was cornered in a dark room, the child held tightly in his arms, sobbing as he hid his tear stained face in the velvet doublet. The sound of frightened sobs broke the silence, the man before them turned. Eyes meeting the shaking figure. Richard, Duke of Gloucester stood quickly, acting to throw the child behind him. He drew a sword, so it had come to this? He would protect the child with his life. The man before them chuckled, a fast hand brought pain to Richard's arm, the sword hit the ground with a crash. Thrust aside Gloucester cursed, reaching for the child a moment too late. He heard the sound of kicking feet, of panicked struggles. The fight was futile.   
  
Ned's words ran through his head. _Fight only when you know you can win brother._ Tears stung his eyes, his feet heavy and knees weak he tried to flee. No good would come from staying. He gulped, tripped over the child's lifeless frame as it landed on the floor, strong hands seizing his shoulder's without hesitation. “We have Gloucester.”  
  
“Gloucester?” The female voice ran familiar, though he could not place it in the darkness before him. The elegant tone, the steady timbre. A noble woman by breeding, could it be so that Margaret Beaufort herself had come to see this event? That the Tudor mother had plotted and now witnessed the death of the Yorkist prince? “Can it be? Truly?” She stepped forward, her soft hand lifting his chin. The flame suddenly caught his face, stung his eyes till they closed against the sudden, unwanted invasion of light, blinding him further to the face of his captors. “Well, I would have thought his grace King Edward would have served you better, found you protection. Never did I expect to find you here, in the Tower and so very alone.” Her palm stroked his cheek, her tongue clicking against her teeth as she tutted. “It will never do, York's heir base born bastards dead and with them, the true heir slaughtered. Or, how would you like to be king? I can make you king. To see your brother's crown upon your head, is that not what you always wanted? If you are at all like your ambitious brother, George. Of course you do... You're a Plantagenet, a York. Cecily probably raised you as a prince.” She smiled, saw something flicker in Richard's eyes as the pale blue diasmond's followed her pacing around the chamber. “Yes, I was right. You dream of nothing but, I can make those dreams a reality.”  
  
“How?” His voice was strained, so desperate was his struggle to keep control. Loyalty burned still, deep in his chest, forcing the beat of his heart. It sped, pounding heavily. His ambitions were true, how so often he had dreamed of taking Edward's place. Of ruling England. How he had dreamed of so many things. Now as he closed his eyes, weighing over the suggestions Margaret had made, it seemed too easy. What price must he pay for so epic scale prize? To betray his brother, discard his loyalty and his honour.   
  
_Loyalte me lie..._

 

How could he? His eyes opened briefly, the face of his desired queen flashing before him like a vision from the Lord. His skin lost heat, his heart fluttered. Sudden anger of unexpected magnitude hit him like a wave. His hands shook furiously, murderous thoughts rushed through his brain. Why should Ned have his loyalty? Had he not been betrayed by the brother he had once loved the most? When he had taken the greatest of prizes with little remorse and less thought. Edward had by ignorance allowed George his match, had allowed the marriage between George and Isabel. George the traitor, George the fool, George who had risen with Warwick and marred the Plantagenet name. George who had died a deserter in France. Yet Richard had stood beside the King. Had fought at his right hand, had shared hopeless moments in exile, had nursed him back to health, had pleaded his cause and had remained ever loyal, ever faithful to the kings interests. His match had been denied, in selfishness and arrogance. Lady Anne Neville had been deprived of the Duchy of Gloucester anf for what? To become a King's mistress?

 

Ned deserved no loyalty. His eyes met those of Margaret Beaufort, this time he spoke with confidence. “What would I have to do?”  
  
“Where is King Edward and his bastard child, Prince Richard?”  
  
“Bruges. They both fled to Bruges.” 

 

“Thank you my lord.” He felt her hand slip over his mouth, closing his nostrils. Air, he needed air. He fought, struggling as more hands restrained him. He tried to cry, tried to win in a battle he could not. The world turned dark and his mind blank. Before he took his final breath he saw the flash of lights, the bright beam of heaven before his knees gave out. His last thoughts were of his mother, his father and his boyhood in Yorkshire, when all had been well.   
  
_Ned, Edmund, Margaret, George....._

 

From then the Duke of Gloucester was no more.

 

  
  
Margaret Beaufort looked to Jasper as he stood white faced holding the candle. “Will you stand there and do nothing?” She removed the ring from the Duke's finger, holding it up to the flame. “Get rid of the bodies.” She turned to the desk kept at the chamber's edge. Lifting an ink dipped quill she began to scribble.

 

 

_Dearest Lord and Father_

 

 _It is feared we will not live the month. For weeks we have been kept here in the Tower. None visits us, Lady mother is denied audience by my uncle of Gloucester. Surely your royal grace has heard, he declares himself our protector in your absence. Sir Anthony was sentenced and executed Friday last and my lord Hastings but a month ago. We fear the worst, for England is in the hands of traitors. Ever it will be. Lady Margaret prays daily, her son Henry raises troops in our good name. Please you father have Richard return. For we are surely doomed, my heir must take my throne._  
  
Long live your grace in absence.   
Trust not my Lord of Gloucester. 

_Your faithful son and loving subject._  
  
Edward R.   
Prince of Wales.

 

Once she had finished the elegant words in a child's hand, she sealed the letter with the royal seal. Handing it to Jasper she smiled ice. “See this gets to his grace King Edward. The coward who hides in Burgundy. Once you have done have Henry prepare, he fight now for England's throne.” She stopped as she left the chamber, reaching the spiralling staircase. “And Jasper, look busy for York. I would hate for my husband to discover the true nature of my intentions. We must be innocent if we are to succeed, if we shall remove impurity and sorcery from the throne.”

 


	61. Chapter 61

“Dead.” The prince felt the blade touch his neck as he lay upon the cool grass. Gulping his eyes closed before the point retreated from soft, tender flesh. “You would be dead.” He was helped to his feet. Lady Anne Neville brushed down his clothes, smiling as she stepped back, readying the sword once more. “Again your grace?”   
  
“Why must I fight a woman?” His eyes turned to Margaret Plantagener, the aunt with whom he had recently become acquainted, the woman who had changed his life since his arrival in Burgundy. She smiled, her eyes shfiting from the tapestry over which she had been worrying. Her hands fell to her lap, the silken depiction of Arthurian knights on horseback fell onto her dress as she giggled with delight. Soft blue eyes danced over her nephew as he begged.   
  
“Would you rather have Max train with you? For his grace the Duke of Burgundy would surely have fun. We here fight not like the English. Of course your father would tell you that. Rest his soul.” She sighed, her mind wandering to the brother she had lost but weeks ago. He had died from sudden illness, illness the physicians had confirmed to be ill humours caused by deliberate imbalance. Justice had been paid, the households newest cook executed and food was now tasted for the princes own protection. No risks would be taken around this boy, his cause would be one and his rule would be divine. Margaret Plantagenet had never been one to believe in sorcery, had never condoned it as sport nor fun, but the sooth sayers had gained her attention, the wise women had convinced of her nephews rightful purpose. Despite it all he would be king, a York would rule England in the Plantagenet name. “No, the French fight well. Stronger than an English knight, although my lady Anne seem confident, she is enough to challenge any man.” Margaret flushed as the Neville girl curtsied her thanks. “But if my lord insists.” The dowager duchess clapped her hands, a man in armour emerged with a bow. “Francis, be so kind as to teach our young prince what will be needed upon his return to England.”  
  
“Madam.” The man turned, taking the sword from Anne Neville's ready hand, he faced the child in front of him. Margaret’s eyes fixed upon them.   
  
“I warn you Francis, he is my brother's son. You do surely remember Ned?” She smiled, watched Richard blush with recognition, saw the honour flash in the young boys eyes as Francis drained of colour. “I thought you would.”  
  
“How could a man forget your brother England's past king your grace?”  
  
“No one easily.”  
  
“You knew my father-” Richard's words were stopped, the man's sword cutting down onto his own. The clank of metal fierce as the prince drew back, the blade meeting armour with a crash. Another impact followed, repeating blows until the knight fell hard upon the floor. Wincing from the pressure as his lungs released their filling. He cursed as Margaret cheered.   
  
“Well done prince Richard! You are ever better than I thought. Lady Anne it seems he spared you from his wrath! It is like Edward the third once again graces our presence.”  
  
“He is descended from good old King Edward.”  
  
“Richard, your grace prepare yourself to travel.” The duchess tried to smile. “You go to England with an army next week. You must remember child, failure means death. Death results in the disaster of England. You cannot, I mean cannot allow Henry Tudor to win. He cannot get that throne.” She crossed herself, taking the child's hand in her own as he approached, watching a he kneeled, deep blue eyes cast upward to look up to her, the purest admiration in his eyes.   
Silently she prayed, begging God for her nephews success. How she remembered those years ago when fate had favoured York. When all had said her brother would fail, and fail he did not. How she prayed that Richard, this previous child before her would have his fathers success. Her eyes closed as the boy gazed at her. “Sweeting, please god you should succeed. We should all fall and suffer if you do not.” She watched as the child rose on shaking knees following Francis as he left the room. How it would do them all good to return to their homeland. “Anne, prepare yourself and have Jenice prepare my things. We fight alongside England's rightful king.”

  
Anne turned away, walking to the doors, pausing as she reached their golden splendour. “Do you think the Duke of Gloucester is involved? The letter said he was-”  
  
“The letter was years ago, the Duke is dead Anne, my brother had been dead for sometime now. The letter was not written by my nephew. Ned knew it well, he was simply loath to admit the truth that the boy was dead. But the fault is Ned's. My brother could be foolish, irrational. He left the child in England, he left the boy to suffer. And suffer I am sure he did though such news utterly breaks my heart.”  
  
“Prince Edward was dying.”  
  
“And he died before his time.” Margaret sighed, taking up her sewing once more. Eyes focused on the silken threads to mask her tears. “At my brothers hand.”

 

“Yes your grace, so you think it so that Richard of Gloucester is dead.”

  
“If he is not, then it is not Tudor over who we must worry. I am sure he is dead, my heart does tell me so, but do not alarm the prince of the chance that that his uncle is alive, much less involved. You want not to raise his hopes of a family reunion. Nor your own of a long past lover. No Anne, silence yourself of Gloucester, for either way, if he is alive we live with a threat much more dangerous than Tudor.”  
  
“And if the Tudor woman, Margaret Beaufort is involved?”  
  
“Then God help us all.” Margaret rose, watching as the Neville girl dropped a curtsy. She would have to prepare for this possibility. One until now, she had never really considered. She stopped inside the corridor, her head resting in shaking hands. How could she believe this, how could she truly be processing the possibilities. Ned's words burned into her brain, how foolish he had admitted to being. How could he have threatened his dynasty so utterly, how could he have married the Woodville woman whilst married to Margaret Beaufort. England's wealthiest heiress.   
  
As memories ran through her head, the faces of the losses, the names of the dead in the pointless war, this act of terror which had plagued England and her for two decades and more, she cursed the men who had brought this hell upon a county and its citizens. How they had destroyed so many families, ripped apart so many dreams. Lives were torn and hearts broken. Loyalties shattered and faith betrayed.   
  
_Father, Edmund, Dick, Johnny, Henry, George, Edward, Richard, Ned...._  
  
Tears stung her eyes as she thought of the child, the sweet boy who in his chambers prepared for a war that see his life ended or a crown upon his head. But no matter what she could never be sure, how could she ever be certain of that child's future, of what it would hold. What would happen should he win? Either way she predicted and early grave. His mothers ambition, his fathers stupidity, the lies of a king, the sacrifice of a prince so unnecessary. All she could forsee for the child was a lifetime of misery and a nations suffering. So much of her fought, how she wanted to save him from the fate he must endure. How she wanted to help the child she had grown to love. How devastated she was that she could not.


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thank you all for your continued support. I wish to inform you all that this is the last chapter of this. I have loved you all as readers and hope you enjoy the finale. 
> 
> Long Live Richard III.

Bosworth, 1485

The men charged at one another in a final flair. Henry Tudor sat upon his horse. The eyes of Prince Richard met the eyes of the Tudor traitor. He spurred his horse, small feet and tender thighs aching from anxiety and desire. How he longed to prove himself, longed to live the legacy his father left for him. Wished to win the battle his uncle had died to provide. The child's eyes closed as his horse parted the men, crushing Tudor's soldiers beneath its beating hooves. Tears stung his eyes, his heart pounded. “Tudor!” He chased the man fleeing, watching as the false king began to run, making ground soon devoured by the horses powerful flanks.”You coward, turn and fight.” 

The land seemed eerie, mist and smoke swayed around them. The battlefield was silent behind them, Richard jumped from the horse drawing his sword. Their eyes met, blue on brown. Tudor tensed, reluctant strong upon otherwise handsome features. Richard saw the look, saw the tension. Nothing was spared as the blade connected with armour, the force sending waves of pain down his tiny arms. His eyes closed, feeling the impact as Tudor fought back. 

Soon nothing was present but cold sweat and fear, the sound of heart beats drumming in his ears. The memories of sweet childhood plaguing his mind, distracting him from the true cause. Tudor gulped, his feet slipping he was losing ground. All was not lost and Richard saw it. Another impact of the blade pierced the armour. Eyes closed once more, the sound of Tudors cry pricked his ears, pierced his heart. He muttered his prayers in shaky Latin. Tudor tried, falling as the blade struck his neck. Another blow before his cause was lost. 

Young Richard stood above his enemy, panting with exhaustion. The crown lay upon the floor, taken up in the princes tiny shaking hands. He stopped, seeing from the corner of his eye the woman he wished not to see. The look of maternal grief rife upon her face. “My lady Beaufort.”

“Your grace.” Her words were almost lost in tears as she fell beside her son. Tears shuddering her body. He stopped, no mercy taking him as he saw the other woman. The girl with the blond hair, the look of golden waves swaying from her head to her waist. Her gown shimmering silver above the blood stained grass. He gulped, Elizabeth approached curtsying to the new king. He shuddered, hearing the sudden roar of his victorious Yorkist troops. News had spread quickly of Tudors demise. Of his new found Kingship. 

“Your grace, King Richard.”

“Please sister.” He took her hand in his own as she kneeled before him, acknowledging as men approached, taking the crown from the floor where he had dropped it. He turned to Francis, hus Burgundian traveller, eyes glazed with apprehension. “Prey tell what am I to do, my father failed to prepare me for Kingship.” He looked to Elisabeth taking he hand tightly, she smiled, light grief filling the icy jewels that usually glittered, now shimmering with the tears of a widow. How guilty he felt, how he had forgotten. “I was not supposed to be king was I sister?” She shook her head, pulling the child close to her, kissing his head and ruffling his hair. 

“You kneel your grace, and they will place the crown upon your head and declare you king.” Elizabeth tried to comfort him, seeing the tears welling up in his eyes. How quickly she was reminded that the king before he was not the warrior they had known to be their father, nor the knight in bold Warwick had shown himself. Not even the honest husband Henry had displayed himself as. 

“But Ned, Ned was King and never crowned. He would have sat upon the throne.” He looked to his sister, dropping upon one knee. His eyes downcast, stinging with tears. He felt the weight of the crown fall upon his head. Heard the up-cry of cheers, the claps of thousands of men. “

“Long live King Richard!” All cried the words in cheers, the fan fare of trumpets filling his ears.


End file.
